61FT  OP 
ROBERT" 
BE1PHBR 


A  NARRATIVE  POEM 


BY 


JOAQUIN   MILLER 


HERBERT  B.TURNER  &  CO. 

BOSTON 

1907 


Copyright,  1907,  by 
HERBERT  B.  TURNER  &  CO. 


Published,  March,  1007 


The  Plimpton  Press  Norwood  Mass.  US.A 


>W    ASPIRATION 

T  ET  me  explain  that  this  was  penned  amid 
*-!*  the  scenes  described,  in  order  to  get  the 
color,  action,  and  atmosphere,  and  that  from 
time  to  time  fragments  were  in  print  during  my 
wanderings;  so  you  may  find  bits  in  the  book 
not  entirely  new.  But  as  these  were  photographs, 
so  far  as  I  could  make  them,  they  must  remain 
unchanged. 

My  aspiration  is  and  ever  has  been,  in  my  dim 
and  uncertain  way,  to  be  a  sort  of  Columbus  —  or 
a  Corte^.  "  And  if  1  perish,  I  perish." 

But  I  need  room.  I  need  not  only  the  latitude 
but  even  the  longitude  of  all  known  oceans  and  of 
all  glorious  nature  to  sail  these  uncharted  bucca 
neer  seas.  For  the  tribute  of  song  and  story 
must  be  not  only  worthy  them  but  of  sympathetic 
interest  and  sincere  concern  to  you,  my  ardent 
reader. 

Besides  and  above  all,  despising  the  hazard  of 

new   work   and   ways,    I    aspire    to    picture    the 

matchless,  magnificent,  and  terrible   splendors  of 

our   gold- sir  own    and    flame-fed    Arctic    Empire. 

v 


1 62222 


AN      ASPIRATION 


At  the  same  time,  please  let  me  pioneer  a  little 
further  and  try  to  set  the  banner  of  Song  on  the 
sunlit  Islands,  along  the  sea  bank  of  everlasting 
Summer,  and  over  against  the  cloud-born  battle 
ments  of  our  mighty  American  Ocean. 


VI 


BOOK    FIRST 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY    , 

OF 

.'FORM'1' 


CANTO    I 

A  YUCCA  crowned  in  creamy  bloom, 
•^^     A  yucca  freighted  with  perfume, 
Breathed  fragrance  up  the  blossomed  steep; 
The  warm  sea  winds  lay  half  asleep, 
Lay  drowsing  in  the  dreamy  wold 
By  Saint  Francisco's  tawny  Bay, 
As  if  to  fold,  forever  fold, 
Worn,  wearied  wings  and  rest  alway 
In  careless,  languid  Arcady. 

ii 

Some  clean,  lean  Eucalyptus  trees, 
Wind-torn  and  tossing  to  the  blue, 
Kept  ward  above  the  silent  two 
Who  sat  the  fragrant  sundown  seas 
Above  the  sounding  Golden  Gate 
Nor  questioned  overmuch  of  fate; 

3 


LIGHT 

For  she  was  dowered,  gold  on  gold, 
With  wealth  of  face  and  form  untold ! 
And  he  was  proud  and  passionate. 

in 

Ten  thousand  miles  of  mobile  sea  — 
This  sea  of  all  seas  blent  as  one 
Wide,  unbound  book  of  mystery, 
Of  awe,  of  sibyl  prophecy, 
Ere  yet  a  ghost  or  misty  ken 
Of  God's  far,  first  Beginning  when 
Vast  darkness  lay  upon  the  deep; 
As  when  God's  spirit  moved  upon 
Such  waters  cradled  in  such  sleep 
Such  night  as  never  yet  knew  dawn, 
Such  night  as  weird  atallaph  weaves 
But  never  mortal  man  conceives. 

IV 

He  looked  to  heaven,  God;  but  she 
Saw  only  his  face  and  the  sea. 
He  said  —  his  fond  face  leaned  to  hers, 
The  warmest  of  God's  worshipers  — 
"In  the  beginning?    Where  and  when, 
Before  the  fashioning  of  men, 
Swung  first  His  high  lamps  to  and  fro, 
To  light  us  as  we  please  to  go? 
4 


LIGHT 

And  where  the  waters,  dark  deeps  when 
God  spake,  and  said,  'Let  there  be  light'? 
They  still  house  where  they  housed,  as  then, 
Dark  curtained  with  majestic  night  — 
Dusk  Silence,  in  travail  of  Light 
That  knew  not  man  or  man's,  at  all  — 
Steel  battle-ship  or  wood-built  wall. 


"Aye,  these,  these  were  the  waters  when 

God  spake  and  knew  His  fair  first-born  — 

That  silent,  new-born  baby  morn, 

Such  eons  ere  the  noise  of  men. 

His  Southern  Cross,  high-built  about 

The  deep,  set  in  a  town  of  stars, 

Commemorates,  forbids  a  doubt 

That  here  first  fell  God's  golden  bars  — 

Red  bars,  with  soft,  white  silver  blent, 

Broad  sown  from  sapphire  firmament. 

VI 

"  Behold  what  wave-lights  leap  and  run 
Swift  up  the  shale  from  out  the  sea 
Inwove  with  silver,  gold  and  sun! 
Light  lingers  in  the  tawny  mane 
Of  wild  oats  waving  lazily 
Far  upon  the  climbing  poppy  plain; 
5 


LIGHT 

Far  up  yon  steeps  of  dusk  and  dawn  — 
Black  night,  white  light,  inwound  as  one. 
But  when,  when  fell  that  far,  first  dawn 
With  ways  of  gold  to  walk  upon? 

VII 

"I  know  not  when,  but  only  know 
That  darkness  lay  upon  yon  deep, 
Lay  cradled,  as  a  child  asleep, 
And  that  God's  spirit  moved  upon 
These  waters  ere  the  burst  of  dawn 
When  first  His  high  lamps  to  and  fro 
Swung  forth  to  guide  which  way  to  go. 

VIII 

"  I  only  know  that  Silence  keeps 
High  court  forever  still  hereon, 
That  Silence  lords  alone  these  deeps, 
The  silence  of  God's  house,  and  keeps 
Inviolate  yon  water's  face. 
As  if  still  His  abiding  place, 
As  ere  that  far,  first  burst  of  dawn 
Ere  fretful  man  set  sail  upon. 

IX 

"The  deeps,"  he  mused,  are  still,  as  when 
Dusk  Silence  kept  her  curtained  bed 
Low  moaning  for  the  birth  of  dawn, 
6 


LIGHT 

When  she  should  push  black  night  aside, 
As  some  ghoul  nightmare  most  abhorred 
When  she  might  laughing  look  upon 
God's  first-born  glory,  holy  Light  — 
As  when  fond  Eve  exulting  cried, 
In  mother-pain,  with  mother-pride, 
" Behold  the  fair  first-born  of  men! 
I  gat  a  man-child  of  the  Lord!" 


As  one  discerning  some  sweet  nook 
Of  wild  oats,  mantling  yellow,  pink, 
Will  pass,  then  turn  and  turn  to  look, 
Then  pass  again  to  think  and  think, 
Then  try  to  not  turn  back  again, 
But  try  and  try  to  quite  forget 
And,  sighing,  try  and  try  in  vain; 
So  you  would  turn  and  turn  again 
To  her,  her  girlish  woman's  grace  — 
Full-flowered  yet  fond  baby's  face. 

XI 

Her  wide,  sweet  mouth,  an  opened  rose, 
Pushed  out,  reached  out,  as  if  to  kiss; 
A  mobile  mouth  in  proud  repose 
This  moment,  then  unlike  to  this 
As  storm  to  calm,  as  day  to  night, 
7 


LIGHT 

As  sullen  darkness  to  swift  light; 
This  new-made  woman  was,  the  sun 
And  surged  sea  interwound  in  one. 

XII 

Her  proud  and  ample  lips  pushed  out 
As  kissing  sea-winds  unaware; 
And  then  they  arched  in  angry  pout, 
As  if  she  cared  yet  did  not  care. 
Then  lightning  lit  her  great,  wide  eyes, 
As  if  black  thunder  walled  the  skies, 
And  all  things  took  some  touch  of  her, 
The  while  she  stood  nor  deigned  to  stir: 
The  while  she  saw  with  vision  dim  — 
Saw  all  things,  yet  saw  only  him. 

XIII 

Such  eyes  as  compass  all  the  skies, 
That  see  all  things  yet  naught  have  seen; 
Such  eyes  of  love  or  sorrow's  eyes  — 
A  martyr  or  a  Magdalene? 
How  sad  that  all  great  souls  are  sad! 
How  sad  that  gladness  is  not  glad  — 
That  Love's  sad  sister  is  sweet  Pain, 
That  only  lips  of  beauty  drain 
Life's  full-brimmed,  glittering  goblet  dry, 
And  only  drain  the  cup  to  die! 
8 


LIGHT 

XIV 

The  yellow  of  her  poppy  hair 
Was  as  red  gold  is,  when  at  rest; 
But  when  aroused  was  as  the  west 
m  sunset  flame  and  then  —  take  care! 
Her  tall,  free-fashioned,  supple  form 
Was  now  some  sudden,  tropic  storm, 
Was  now  some  lily  leaned  at  play. 
What  sea  and  sun,  sunshine  and  shower, 
Full  flowered  ere  the  noon  of  day, 
Full  June  ere  yet  the  morn  of  May, 
This  sun-born  blossom  of  an  hour  — 
Precocious  Californian  flower! 

xv 

She  answered  not  but  looked  away 
With  brown  hand  arched  above  her  brow,  — 
As  peers  a  boatman  from  his  prow,  — 
To  where  white  sea-doves  wheeled  at  play. 
She  watched  them  long,  then  turned  and  sighed 
And  looking  in  his  face  she  cried, 
While  blushing  prettily,  "Behold, 
There  is  no  mateless  dove,  not  one! 
And  see!  not  one  unhappy  dove, 
Ten  thousand  circling  in  the  sun, 
Entangled  as  the  mesh  of  fate, 
Yet  each  remains  as  true  as  gold 

9 


LIGHT 

And  constant  courts  his  pretty  mate. 
See  here!  See  there!     Behold,  above  — 
I  think  each  dove  would  die  for  love." 
He  watched  the  shallows  spume  the  shore 
And  fleck  the  shelly,  drifting  shale, 
Then  far  at  sea  his  swift  eyes  swept 
Where  one  tall,  stately,  snow-white  sail 
Its  silent  course  majestic  kept 
And  gloried  in  its  alien  mood, 
As  his  own  soul  in  solitude 

XVI 

"The  shallows  murmur  and  complain, 
The  shallows  turn  with  wind  and  tide, 
They  fringe  with  froth  and  moil  the  main; 
They  wail  and  will  not  be  denied  — 
Poor,  puny  babes,  unsatisfied! 

XVII 

"The  lighthouse  clings  her  beetling  steep 
Above  the  rock-sown,  ragged  shore 
Where  Scylla  and  Charybdis  roar 
And  dangers  lurk  and  shallows  keep 
Mad  tumult  in  the  house  of  sleep. 
The  shallows  moan  and  moan  alway  — 
The  deeps  have  not  one  word  to  say. 


10 


LIGHT 

XVIII 

"  I  reckon  Silence  as  a  grace 
That  was  ere  light  had  name  or  place; 
A  saint  enshrined  ere  hand  was  laid 
To  fashioning  of  man  or  maid. 
For,  storm  or  calm,  or  sun  or  shade, 
Fair  Silence  never  truth  betrayed; 
For,  ocean  deep  or  dappled  sky, 
Saint  Silence  never  told  a  lie." 

CANTO   II 


TT*ROM  out  the  surge  of  Sutro's  steep, 
•*•    Beyond  the  Gate  a  rock  uprears, 
So  sudden,  savage,  unawares        * 
The  very  billows  start  and  leap, 
As  frightened  at  its  lifted  face, 
So  shoreless,  sealess,  out  of  place: 
A  sea-washed,  surge-locked  isle,  as  lone 
As  lorn  Napoleon  on  his  throne  — 
His  Saint  Helena  throne,  where  still 
The  dazed  world  in  dumb  wonder  turns 
To  his  high  throned,  imperious  will 
And  incense  burns  and  ever  burns. 
Here  huge  sea-lions  climb  and  cling, 
Despite  of  surge  and  sethe  and  shock, 
11 


LIGHT 

The  topmost  limit  of  the  rock, 
And  one  is  named  Napoleon,  king. 
Behold  him  lord  the  land,  the  sea, 
In  lone,  unquestioned  majesty! 

ii 

She  saw,  she  raised  alert  her  head 
With  eager  face  and  cheery  said : 
"What  lusty,  upheaved,  bull-built  neck! 
What  lungs  to  lift  above  the  roar! 
What  captain  on  his  quarter-deck 
To  mock  the  sea  and  scorn  the  shore! 
I  like  that  scar  across  his  breast, 
I  like  his  ardent,  lover's  zest!" 

in 

The  huge  sea-beast  uprose,  uprose, 
As  if  to  surely  topple  down; 
He  reached  his  black  and  bearded  nose 
Above  his  harem,  gray,  black,  brown, 
Sleek,  shining,  wet  or  steaming  dry, 
And  mouthed  and  mouthed  against  the  sky. 

IV 

What  eloquence,  what  hot  love  pain! 
What  land  but  this,  what  love  but  his? 
What  isle  of  bliss  but  this  and  this  — 
To  roar  and  love  and  roar  again? 
12 


LIGHT 

What  land,  what  love  but  this  his  own, 
Loud  thundered  from  his  slippery  throne; 
Loud  thundered  in  his  Sappho's  ear, 
As  if  she  could  not,  would  not  hear. 

v 

At  last  her  heart  was  moved  and  she 
Raised  two  bright  eyes  to  his  black  beard, 
Then  sudden  turned,  as  if  she  feared, 
And  threw  her  headlong  in  the  sea, 
Another  Sappho,  all  for  love. 
While  Phaon  towered  still  above  — 
An  instant  only;  yet  once  more 
That  upheaved  head,  that  great  bull  neck, 
That  sea-born,  bossed,  bull-throated  roar  — 
A  poise,  a  plunge,  a  flash,  a  fleck, 
And  far  down,  caverned  in  the  deep, 
Where  sea-green  curtains  swing  and  sweep 
And  varicolored  carpets  creep, 
Soft  emerald  or  amethyst, 
Two  lion  lovers  kept  sweet  tryst. 

VI 

She  looked,  looked  long,  then  smiled,  then  sighed, 

A  proud,  pure  soul  unsatisfied, 

Then  sat  dense  grasses  suddenly 

And  thrust  a  foot  above  the  sea. 

She  threw  her  backward,  arms  wide  out, 


LIGHT 

And  up  the  poppy-spangled  steep 

O'er  grass-set  cushions  sown  in  gold, 

As  she  would  sleep  yet  would  not  sleep. 

She  reached  her  wide  hands  fast  about 

And  grasses,  gold  and  manifold, 

Of  lowly  blossoms,  pink  and  blue, 

She  gathered  in  and  laughing  threw, 

With  bare-armed,  heedless,  happy  grace  — 

Threw  fragrant  handfuls  in  his  face. 

And  then  as  if  to  sleep  she  lay, 

A  babe  nursed  at  the  breast  of  May  — 

Lay  back  with  wide  eyes  to  the  skies 

And  clouds  of  wondrous  butterflies; 

Such  Mariposa  blooms  in  air! 

Such  bloomy,  golden,  poppy  hair! 

And  which  were  hers  or  poppy's  gold 

Without  close  care  none  could  have  told; 

And  which  were  butterflies  or  bloom, 

To  guess  there  was  not  guessing  room, 

The  while,  in  quest  of  sweets  or  rest, 

They  fanned  her  face,  they  kissed  her  breast. 

VII 

That  face  like  to  a  lilt  of  song  — 
A  face  of  sea-shell  tint,  with  tide 
Of  springtime  flowing  fast  and  strong 
And  fearless  in  its  maiden  pride  — 


LIGHT 


Such  rich  rose  ambushed  in  such  hair 
Of  heedless,  wind-kissed,  poppy  gold, 
Blown  here,  blown  there,  blown  anywhere, 
Soft-lifting,  falling  fold  on  fold, 
As  made  gold  poppies  where  she  lay 
Turn  envious,  turn  green  as  May! 
What  wise  face  yet  what  wilful  face, 
A  face  that  would  not  be  denied 
No  more  than  gipsy  winds  that  race 
The  sea  bank  in  their  saucy  pride; 
A  form  that  knew  yet  only  knew 
The  natural,  the  human,  true. 

VIII 

Those  two  round  mounds  of  Nineveh, 
What  treasures  of  the  past  they  knew! 
But  these  two  round  mounds  here  to-day 
Hold  treasures  richer  far  than  they, 
And  prophecies  more  truly  true. 
Old  Nineveh's  twin  mounds  are  dust; 
They  only  know  the  ghostly  past; 
But  these  two  new  mounds  hold  in  trust 
The  awful  future,  hold  the  vast 
Unbounded  empire,  land  or  sea, 
Henceforth,  for  all  eternity. 
Let  pass  dead  pasts;  far  wiser  turn 
And  delve  the  future;  love  and  learn. 
'5 


. 


VERSITY 
J 


LIGHT 

IX 

It  seems  she  dreamed.     She  slept,  we  know, 
A  happy,  quiet  little  space, 
Then  thrust  a  round  limb  far  below 
And  half-way  turned  aside  her  face, 
And  then  she  threw  her  arms  wide  out 
In  sleep,  and  so  reached  blind  about, 
As  if  for  something  she  might  find 
From  fortune-telling,  gipsy  wind. 

x 

The  soft,  warm  winds  from  far  away 
Were  weary,  and  they  crept  so  near 
They  lay  against  her  willing  ear 
As  if  they  had  so  much  to  say. 
And  she,  she  seemed  so  glad  to  hear 
The  while  she  loving,  sleeping  lay 
And  dreamed  of  love  nor  dreamed  of  doubt, 
But  laughing  thrust  her  form  far  out 
And  down  the  fragrant  poppy  steep 
In  playful,  restless,  happy  sleep. 
She  sighed,  she  heaved  her  hilly  breast, 
As  one  who  would  but  could  not  rest. 

XI 

How  natural,  how  free,  how  fair, 
The  while  the  happy  winds  on  wings, 
16 


LIGHT 

As  larger  butterflies,  laid  bare 
A  rippled,  braided  rim  of  white 
And  outstretched  ankles  exquisite. 
What  arms  to  hold  a  babe  at  breast  — 
Such  breast  as  prudist  never  guessed! 
What  shapely  limbs,  what  everything 
That  makes  great  woman  great  and  good 
That  makes  for  proud,  pure  motherhood! 

XII 

Such  thews  as  mount  the  steeps  of  morn, 
Such  limbs  as  love,  not  lust  shall  share, 
Such  legs  as  God  has  shaped  to  bear 
The  weight  of  ages,  worlds  unborn; 
Such  limbs  as  Lesbian  shrines  revealed 
When  comely,  longing  mothers  kneeled; 
Such  thews  as  Phidias  loved  to  hew, 
Such  limbs  as  Leighton  loved  to  draw 
When  painting  tall,  Greek  girls  at  play; 
Such  legs  as  blind  old  Homer  saw, 
As  Marlowe  knew  but  yesterday, 
When  Helen  climbed  in  dreams  for  him 
Her  cloud-topped  towers  of  Ilium. 


LIGHT 


CANTO   III 

AltT'HITE  sea-gulls  glistened  in  the  sun 

Ten  thousand  if  a  single  one  — 
And  every  sea-dove  knew  his  mate. 
Far,  far  at  sea,  the  Farallones 
Sent  up  a  million  plaintive  moans 
From  sea-beasts  moaning  love,  or  hate. 
The  sun  sank  weary,  flushed  and  worn, 
The  warm  sea-winds  sank  tattered,  torn, 
The  sun  and  sea  lay  welded,  wed; 
The  day  lay  crouched  upon  the  deep 
Half  closed,  as  eyes  half  closed  in  sleep, 
Half  closed,  as  some  good  book  half  read. 

ii 

The  sea  was  as  an  opal  sea 
Inlaid  with  scintillating  light, 
Yet  close  about  and  left  and  right 
The  sea  lay  banked  and  bossed  in  night, 
As  black  as  ever  night  may  be. 

in 

The  sundown  sea  all  sudden  then 
Lay  argent,  pallid,  white  as  death. 
As  when  some  great  thing  dies;  as  when 

18 


LIGHT 

A  god  gasps  in  one  final  breath 

And  heaves  full  length  his  somber  bed. 

The  sundown  sea  now  shone,  mobile, 

Translucent,  flaming,  molten  steel, 

Red,  green,  then  tenfold  more  than  red, 

And  then  of  every  hue,  a  hint 

Of  doubloons  spilling  from  the  mint, 

Alternate,  changing,  manifold, 

Yet  melting,  minting  all  to  gold. 

IV 

Far  mountain  peaks  flashed  flecks  of  gold 
And  dashed  with  dappled  flecks  the  skies. 
"Behold,"  said  he,  "the  fleecy  fold 
Now  slowly,  surely,  homeward  hies. 
Such  cobalt  blue,  such  sheep  of  gold, 
Such  gold  as  hath  not  place  or  name 
In  elsewhere  land,  because  no  seer 
Hath  seen  or  dauntless  prophet  told 
Where  stood  the  loom  in  primal  peace 
That  wove  the  fair,  first  golden  fleece. 
Behold,  what  gold-flecked  flocks  of  Light! 
Ten  million  moving  sheep  of  gold, 
Wee  lambs  of  gold  that  nudge  their  dams, 
Great  horned,  wrinkled,  heady  rams! 


LIGHT 


"Slow-shepherded,  the  golden  sheep, 
With  bent  horns  lowered  to  the  deep, 
Come  home;  the  hollows  of  the  sea 
Receive  and  house  them  lovingly. 
The  little  lambs  of  Light  come  home 
And  house  them  in  the  argent  foam, 
The  while  He  counts  them  every  one, 
And  shuts  the  Gate,  for  day  is  done. 

VI 

"Aye,  day  is  done,  the  dying  sun 
Sinks  wounded  unto  death  to-night; 
A  great,  hurt  swan,  he  sinks  to  rest, 
His  wings  all  crimson,  blood  his  breast! 
What  wide,  low  wings,  reached  left  and  right, 
He  sings,  and  night  and  swan  are  one  — 
One  huge  black  swan  of  Helicon. 

VII 

"What  crimson  breast,  what  crimson  wings 
The  while  he  dies,  and  dying  sings! 
Yet  safe  is  housed  the  happy  fold, 
The  golden  sheep,  the  fleece  of  gold 
That  lured  the  dauntless  Argonaut  — 
The  fleece  that  daring  Jason  sought." 
20 


LIGHT 


VIII 

She  waking  sighed,  soft  murmuring, 
As  waters  from  some  wood-walled  spring: 
"Oh  happy,  huge,  horn-headed  rams, 
To  guide  and  lead  the  golden  fleece, 
To  ward  the  fold  of  fat  increase 
Fast  mated  to  your  golden  dams! 
With  bridal  gold,  what  golden  bride, 
What  golden  twin  lambs,  side  by  side! 
Oh  happy,  happy  nudging  lambs, 
Thrice  happy,  happy  golden  dams!' 

IX 

His  face  was  still  against  the  west; 
For  still  a  flush  of  gold  was  there 
That  would  not  or  that  could  not  rest, 
But  seemed  some  night  bird  of  the  air. 
At  last,  with  half-averted  head 
And  dreamfully,  as  dreaming,  said: 
"What  banker  gathers  yonder  gold 
That  sinks,  sea-washed,  beyond  the  deeps? 
Lie  there  no  sands  to  house  and  hold 
This  sunset  gold  in  countless  heaps? 
There  sure  must  be  some  far,  fierce  land, 
Some  Guinea  shore,  some  fire-fed  strand, 
Some  glowing,  palm-set,  pathless  spot 
Where  all  this  sunset  gold  is  stored, 
21 


LIGHT 

As  misers  gather  hoard  on  board. 
There  sure  must  be,  beyond  this  sea, 
Some  Argo's  gold,  some  argosy, 
Some  golden  fleece,  long  since  forgot, 
To  wait  the  coming  Argonaut." 


She  sprang  up  sudden,  savagely, 
And  flushed,  and  paled,  looked  far  away, 
Grinding  gold  poppies  with  her  heel. 
She  could  not  say,  she  could  but  feel. 
She  nothing  said,  because  that  they 
Who  really  feel  can  rarely  say. 
And  then  she  looked  up,  forth  and  far, 
And  pointed  to  the  pale  North  Star, 
The  while  her  color  went  and  came 
From  pink  to  white,  from  frost  to  flame. 

XI 

For  this,  the  one  forbidden  theme, 
The  one  hard,  dread,  unquiet  dream 
That  he  should  go,  lead  forth  and  far 
Below  the  triple  Arctic  star, 
As  he  had  planned;  and  now  to  speak, 
To  hint  —  she  heard  with  pallid  cheek. 
Hard  had  she  tried,  had  fain  forgot 
How  strong,  strange  men  were  trending  far 
22 


LIGHT 


Against  this  cold,  elusive  star, 
And  he  their  Jason  —  Argonaut! 

CANTO    IV 


1LTOW  passing  fair,  how  wondrous  fair 
This  daughter  of  the  yellow  sun! 
Her  sunlit  length  and  strength  of  hair 
Seemed  sun  and  gold  inwound  in  one. 
How  strangely  silent,  unaware, 
Unconscious  quite  of  strength  or  grace 
Or  peril  of  her  beauteous  face, 
She  stood,  the  first-born  of  a  race, 
A  proud,  new  race,  scarce  yet  begun. 
How  tall  she  stood,  free  debonair  — 
How  stately  and  how  supple,  tall, 
The  time  she  loosened  and  let  fall 
Her  tossed  and  mighty  Titian  hair! 


So  beautiful  she  was,  as  one 
From  out  some  priceless  picture-book! 
You  could  but  love,  you  had  no  choice 
But  love  and  turn  again  to  look. 
How  young  she  was  and  yet  how  old!  — 
Red  orange  ripened  in  the  sun 
23 


LIGHT 

Where  never  hand  had  reached  as  yet. 
The  calm  strength  of  her  lifted  face, 
The  low  notes  of  her  tuneful  voice, 
Were  mint-marks  of  that  wondrous  race 
But  scarcely  born  nor  known  as  yet 
Beyond  yon  yellow  hills  that  fret 
Warm  sea-winds  with  their  waving  pine. 
A  princess  of  that  royal  line 
Of  kings  who  came  and  silent  passed, 
Yet,  passing,  set  bold,  royal  hand 
And  mighty  mint-mark  on  the  land, 
And  set  it  there  to  last  and  last, 
As  if  in  bronzen  copper  cast. 

in 

He,  too,  was  born  of  men  who  wooed 
The  savage  walks  of  solitude, 
And  hewed  close,  clean  to  nature's  laws  - 
Of  men  who  knew  not  tears  or  fears, 
Of  men  full-sexed,  yet  men  who  knew 
Not  sex  till  perfect  manhood  was. 
When  men  had  thews  of  antique  men, 
And  one  stood  with  the  strength  of  ten; 
When  men  gat  men  who  dared  to  do; 
Gat  men  of  heart  who  dwelt  apart, 
As  Adam  dwelt,  when  giants  grew 
And  men  as  gods  drew  ample  breath  — 
24 


LIGHT 

As  Adams  with  their  thousand  years, 
Ere  drunkenness  of  sex  had  done 
The  silly  world  to  willing  death. 

IV 

What  royal  parentage,  what  true 

Nobility,  those  men  who  knew 

The  light,  who  chased  the  yellow  sun 

From  sea  to  sea  triumphantly, 

And  westward  fought  and  westward  won, 

As  never  daring  man  had  done. 

v 

They  housed  with  God  upon  the  height; 
Companioned  with  the  peak,  the  pin 
They  led  the  red-lit  firing  line. 
Walled  'round  by  room  and  room  and  room, 
They  read  God's  open  book  at  night, 
And  drank  His  star-distilled  perfume; 
By  day  they  dared  the  trackless  west 
And  chased  the  battling  sun  to  rest. 

VI 

Such  sad,  mad  marches  to  the  sea, 
Such  silent  sacrifice,  such  trust! 
Such  months  of  marching,  misery, 
Such  mountains  heaped  with  heroes'  dust! 
Yet  what  stout  thews  the  fearless  few 
25 


LIGHT 

Who  won  the  sea  at  last,  who  knew 
The  cleansing  fire  and  laid  hold 
To  hammer  out  their  house  of  gold! 

VII 

Their  cities  zone  their  sea  of  seas, 

Their  white  tents  top  the  mountain's  crest. 

The  coward?     He  trenched  not  with  these. 

The  weakling?     He  was  laid  to  rest. 

Each  man  stood  forth  a  man,  such  men 

As  God  wrought  not  since  time  began, 

Each  man  a  hero,  lion  each. 

Behold  what  length  of  limb,  what  length 

Of  life,  of  love,  what  daring  reach 

To  deep-hived  honeycomb!    What  strength! 

How  clean  his  hands,  how  stout  his  heart 

To  dare,  to  do,  camp,  court  or  mart. 

He  stands  so  tall,  so  clean,  he  hears 

The  morning  music  of  the  spheres. 

VIII 

He  loved  her,  feared  her,  far  apart, 
He  kept  his  ways  and  dreamed  his  dreams; 
He  sang  strange  songs,  he  tuned  his  heart 
To  music  of  the  pines  that  preach 
Such  sermons  on  such  holy  themes 
As  only  he  who  climbs  can  reach. 
26 


LIGHT 


IX 

He  would  not  selfish  pluck  one  rose 

To  wear  upon  his  breast  a  day 

And  let  its  perfume  pass  away 

With  any  wind  that  comes  or  goes. 

Why,  he  might  walk  God's  garden  through 

Nor  touch  one  bud  nor  fright  one  bird. 

The  music  of  the  spheres  he  heard, 

The  harmony  he  breathed,  he  knew. 

He  never  marred  God's  harmony 

With  one  harsh  thought.    The  favored  few 

Who  cared  to  live  above  the  sod 

And  lift  glad  faces  up  to  God 

He  knew  loved  all  as  well  as  he, 

Had  equal  right  to  rose  or  tree. 


And  he  must  spare  all  to  the  day 
Their  willing  feet  should  pass  the  way 
God  in  His  garden  walked  at  eve. 
And  as  for  weaklings  who  by  turn 
Would  jest  or  jeer,  he  could  but  grieve, 
And  pity  all  and  silent  say: 
"Let  us  lead  forth,  make  fair  the  way; 
By  time  and  stress  they,  too,  will  learn 
Which  way  to  live,  to  love,  to  turn." 
27 


LIGHT 
XI 

The  long,  lean  Polar  bear  uprose, 
Outreached  a  paw,  a  bare,  black  nose, 
As  if  to  still  hold  hard  control, 
By  glacier  steep  or  ice-packed  main, 
His  mighty  battlemented  snows. 
He  bared  his  yellow  teeth  in  vain; 
Then  backed  against  his  bleak  North  Pole 
He  sulked  and  shook  his  icy  chain. 
And  he  who  dared  not  pluck  a  rose, 
As  if  in  chorus  with  his  pine, 
Must  up  and  lead  the  battle  line 
Beyond  the  awesome  Arctic  chine. 

XII 

No  airy  sighs,  no  tales  to  tell; 
He  knew  God  is,  that  all  is  well, 
That  death  is  but  a  name,  a  date, 
A  milestone  by  the  stormy  road, 
Where  you  may  lay  aside  your  load 
And  bow  your  face  and  rest  and  wait, 
Defying  fear,  defying  fate. 

XIII 

How  fair  is  San  Francisco  Bay 
When  golden  stars  consort  and  when 
The  moon  pours  silver  paths  for  men, 
28 


LIGHT 


And  care  walks  by  the  other  way! 
Huge  ships,  black-bellied,  lay  below 
Broad,  yellow  flags  from  silken  Chind, 
Round,  blood-red  banners  from  Nippon, 
Like  to  her  sun  at  sudden  dawn  — 
Brave  battle-ships  as  white  as  snow, 
With  bannered  stars  tossed  to  the  wind, 
Warm  as  a  kiss  when  love  is  kind. 

XIV 

Twas  twilight,  such  soft,  twilight  night 
As  only  Californians  know, 
When  faithful  love  is  forth,  and  when 
The  Bay  lies  bathed  in  mellow  light; 
And  perfumed  breath  and  softened  breeze 
Blows  far  from  Honolulu's  seas  — 
From  sundown  seas  in  afterglow  — 
When  Song  sits  at  the  feet  of  men 
And  pipes,  low-voiced  as  mated  dove, 
For  love  to  measure  step  with  love. 

xv 

And  yet,  for  all  the  perfumed  seas, 
The  peace,  the  silent  harmonies, 
The  two  stood  mute,  estranged  before 
Her  high-built,  stately,  opened  door 
High  up  the  terraced,  plunging  hill 
As  hushed  as  death,  as  white  and  still. 
29 


LIGHT 

XVI 

The  moon,  amid  her  yellow  fleet, 
With  full,  white  sail,  moved  on  and  on, 
And  drew,  as  loving  hearts  are  drawn, 
All  seas  of  earth  fast  following, 
As  slow  she  sailed  her  sapphire  seas. 
Then,  as  if  pausing,  pitying, 
She  poured  down  at  their  very  feet 
Broad  silver  ways  to  walk  upon 
Which  way  they  would,  or  east  or  west, 
Which  way  they  would,  or  worst  or  best. 

XVII 

Her  voice  was  low,  low  leaned  her  head, 
Her  two  white  hands  all  helpless  prest 
As  if  to  hush  her  aching  breast, 
As  if  to  bid  her  aching  heart 
To  silent  bear  its  bitter  part, 
The  while  she  choking,  sobbing,  said: 
"Then  here,  for  all  our  poppy  days, 
Here,  here,  the  parting  of  the  ways?" 

XVIII 

"Aye,  so  you  will  it.     Here  divide 
The  ways,  forever  and  a  day. 
You,  you  —  you  women  lead  the  way  — 
You  lead  where  love  hangs  crucified, 
3° 


OF  TKF       *        \ 

UNIVERSITY  1 

/ 

s/ 


OF 

••• 


LIGHT 


Where  love  is  laid  prone  in  the  dust  — 

Where  cunning,  cold  men  mouth  sweet  lies 

And  make  pure  love  their  merchandise. 

You  heedless  lead  to  hollow  lands 

Of  bloodless  hearts  and  nerveless  hands; 

I  will  not  rival  such,  nay,  nay 

Not  look  on  such,  save  with  disgust." 

xix 

Her  head  sank  lower  still:  her  hair, 
Her  heavy  hair,  great  skeins  of  gold, 
Hung  loosened,  heedless,  fold  on  fold, 
As  if  she  cared  not,  could  not  care; 
She  tried  to  speak  but  nothing  said; 
She  could  but  press  her  aching  heart, 
Step  back  a  pace  and  shudder,  start, 
The  while  she  slowly  moved  her  head, 
As  if  to  say;  but  nothing  said. 

xx 

Her  silence  lit  his  soul  with  rage, 
He  strode  before  her,  forth  and  back, 
A  lion  strident  in  his  cage, 
Hard  bound  within  his  iron  track. 
And  then  he  paused,  shook  back  his  head, 
And  fronting  her  half  savage  said; 
"My  father,  yours,  each  Argonaut 
3' 


LIGHT 

An  Alexander,  to  this  sea 

Came  forth  and  conquered  mightily. 

XXI 

"God,  what  great  loves,  what  lovers  when 
These  westmost  states  were  born  of  men, 
When  giants  gripped  their  hands  and  came 
With  nerves  of  steel  and  souls  of  flame  — 
Could  you  not  wait  within  yon  Gate, 
As  their  loves  dared  to  wait  and  wait? 
An  hundred  thousand  Didos  sat 
Atlantic's  sea-bank  nor  forgot, 
The  while  their  lovers  westmost  fought, 
But  patient  sat  as  Dido,  when 
She  waved  /Eneas  back  again 
And  bravely  dared  to  smile  thereat. 

XXII 

"Hear  me!    All  Europe,  rind  to  core, 
Is  rotting,  crumbling,  base  to  top. 
Withhold  the  gold  and  silver  prop 
Our  dauntless  fathers  hewed  of  yore 
From  yonder  seamed  Sierras'  core, 
And  such  a  toppling  you  may  hear 
As  never  fell  on  mortal  ear. 


LIGHT 


XXIII 

"What's  London  town  but  sorrow's  town 
And  sins,  such  as  I  dare  not  name? 
Such  thousands  creeping  up  and  down 
Its  dreary  streets  in  draggled  shame! 
What's  London  but  a  market  pen  — 
Its  hundred  thousand  lewd,  rude  men? 
What's  London  but  a  town  of  stone, 
Its  thousand  thousand  women  prone? 

XXIV 

"What's  Paris  but  a  printed  screen, 
A  gaudy  gauze  that  scant  conceals 
The  sensuous  nakedness  between 
The  folds  it  but  the  more  reveals? 
What's  Paris  but  a  circus,  fair, 
To  tempt  this  west  world's  open  purse 
With  tawdry  trinkets,  toys  bizarre? 
Ah,  would  that  she  were  nothing  worse! 
What's  Paris  but  a  piteous  mart 
For  west-world  mothers  crazed  to  trade 
Some  silly,  simpering,  weak  maid 
For  thread-bare,  out-at-elbows  rank  — 
To  outworn,  weak  degenerate 
Whose  bank  is  but  the  faro  bank, 
Whose  grave  bounds  all  his  real  estate; 
33 


LIGHT 

Whose  boast,  whose  only  stock  in  trade, 
A  duel  and  a  ruined  maid! 

xxv 

"What's  Berlin,  Dresden,  sorry  Rome, 
But  traps  that  take  you  unaware? 
Behold  yon  paintings,  right  at  home, 
Where  nature  paints  with  patient  care 
Such  splendid  pictures,  sea  and  shore, 
As  all  the  world  should  bow  before; 
Such  pictures  hanging  to  the  skies 
Against  the  walls  of  Paradise, 
From  base  to  bastion,  as  should  wake 
Piave's  painter  from  the  dust; 
Such  walls  of  color  crowned  in  snow, 
Such  steeps,  such  deeps,  profoundly  vast, 
As  old-time  Art  had  died  to  know, 
And  knowing,  died  content,  as  he 
Who  looked  from  Nimo's  steep  to  see, 
Just  once,  the  Promised  Land,  and  passed! 
And  yet,  for  all  yon  scene,  this  sea, 
You  will  not  bide,  Penelope?" 

XXVI 

"Then  go,  since  you  so  will  it,  go! 
My  way  lies  yonder,  forth  and  far 
Beneath  yon  gleaming  northmost  star 
34 


LIGHT 

O'er  silent  lands  of  trackless  snow. 
Lo,  there  leads  duty,  hope,  as  when 
This  westmost  world  demanded  men: 
Such  men  as  led  the  firing  line 
When  blood  ran  free  as  festal  wine; 
Such  men  as  when,  fast  side  by  side, 
Our  fathers  fought  and  fighting  died." 

XXVII 

"  But  go  —  good  by!    Go  see  again 
The  noisy  circus,  since  you  must; 
Its  painted  women  that  disgust, 
Its  nauseating  monkey  men; 
But  mark  you,  Beautiful,  the  moth 
That  loves  that  luring,  sensuous  light  - 
Nay,  hear!  I  am  not  wilful,  wroth; 
I  love  with  such  exceeding  might, 
My  beautiful,  my  all,  my  life, 
I  would  not,  could  not  take  to  wife 
My  lily  tainted  by  the  touch, 
The  breath,  the  very  sight  of  such. 

XXVIII 

"Shall  I  see  leprous  apes  lean  o'er 
My  rose,  breathe,  touch  it  if  they  may, 
With  breath  that  is  a  very  stench, 
The  while  they  bow  and  bend  before, 
35 


LIGHT 

Familiar,  as  with  some  weak  wench, 
And  smirk  in  double-meaning  French? 

XXIX 

"You  shrink  back  angered?    Well,  adieu; 
What,  not  a  hand?     What,  not  a  touch?  .  .  . 
My  crime  is  that  I  love  too  much, 
My  crime  is  that  I  love  too  true, 
Love  you,  love  you,  not  part  of  you  — 
Yea,  how  much  less  the  rose  that  droops 
In  fevered  halls  where  folly  stoops! 

XXX 

"Yon  splendid,  triple,  midnight  star 

Is  mine;  I  follow  fast  and  sure, 

Because  it  guides  so  far,  so  far 

From  fevered  follies  that  allure 

Your  soul,  your  splendid,  spotless  soul 

To  wreck  where  siren  billows  roll  — 

Good  night !    What,  turn  aside  your  face 

That  I  might  never  see  again 

Its  lifted  glory  and  proud  grace, 

As  some  brave  beacon  light!    Well,  then,  .  .  . 

Ha,  ha!     Let's  laugh  lest  one  may  weep  — 

How  steep  your  hill  seems,  steeps  how  steep! 

How  deep  down  seems  the  misty  town, 

How  lone,  how  dark,  how  distant  down! 

36 


LIGHT 

The  moon,  too,  turns  her  face,  her  light, 
As  you  have  turned  your  face  to-night, 
As  you  have  turned  your  face  from  me, 
My  heartless,  lost  Penelope." 

XXXI 

Then  sudden  up  she  tossed  her  head, 

And,  face  to  his  face,  proudly  said: 

"Penelope!    To  wait  and  weave! 

Penelope!    To  wait  and  wait, 

As  waits  a  dog  within  his  gate; 

To  weave  and  unweave,  grieve  and  grieve, 

As  some  weak  harem  favorite 

Tight  fenced  from  action,  life,  and  light! 

XXXII 

"Why,  I  should  not  have  sat  one  day 
To  that  dull-threaded,  thudding  loom, 
With  cowards  crowding  fast  for  room 
To  say  what  brave  men  dare  not  say! 
Why,  I  had  snatched  down  from  the  wall 
His  second  sword  that  sad,  first  day 
And  set  its  edge  to  end  it  all!  — 
Had  hewn  that  loom  to  splinters,  yea, 
Had  slashed  the  warp,  enmeshed  the  woof 
And  called  that  dog  and  put  to  proof 
Each  silly  suitor  hounding  me, 
Then  hoisted  sail  and  bent  to  sea! 
37 


LIGHT 


XXXIII 

"Penelope!  Penelope! 

Of  all  fool  tales  in  history 

I  think  this  tale  the  foolishest! 

Why  I,  the  favored  of  that  land, 

Had  such  fools  come  to  seek  my  hand, 

Had  ranged  in  line  the  sexless  list 

And  frankly  answered  with  my  fist!" 

xxxiv 

He  passed.     She  paused.     Each  helpless  hand 

Fell  down,  fell  heavy  down  as  lead; 

She  tried  but  could  not  understand. 

At  last  she  raised  once  more  her  head, 

Set  firm  her  lips,  stepped  back  a  pace, 

Looked  long  his  far  star  in  the  face, 

Stood  stately,  still,  as  fixed  as  fate, 

Till  all  the  east  flushed  sudden  red; 

Then  as  she  turned  within  she  said, 

"  I  cannot,  will  not,  will  not  wait." 


BOOK     SECOND 


CANTO   I 


t_T  IS  triple  star  led  on  and  on, 

Led  up  blue,  bastioned  Chilkoot  Pass 
To  clouds,  through  clouds,  above  white  clouds 
That  droop  with  snows  like  beaded  strouds  — 
Above  a  world  of  gleaming  glass, 
Where  loomed  such  cities  of  the  skies 
As  only  prophets  look  upon, 
As  only  loving  poets  see, 
With  prophet  ken  of  mystery. 

ii 

What  lone,  white  silence,  left  or  right, 
What  whiteness,  something  more  than  white! 
Such  steel  blue  whiteness,  van  or  rear  — 
Such  silence  as  you  could  but  hear 
Above  the  sparkled,  frosted  rime, 


•<<•       '     vX 

O^  THE  A 


IVERSITY 


LIGHT 


As  if  the  steely  stars  kept  time 

And  sang  their  mystic,  mighty  rune  — 

.  .  .  And  oh,  the  icy,  eerie  moon! 

in 

What  temples,  towers,  tombs  of  white, 
White  tombs,  white  tombstones,  left  and  right, 
That  pushed  the  passing  night  aside 
To  ward  where  fallen  stars  had  died  — 
To  ward  white  tombs  where  dead  stars  lay  — 
White  tombs  more  white,  more  bright  than 

they; 

White  tombs  high  heaped  white  tombs  upon  — 
White  Ossa  piled  on  Pelion! 

IV 

Pale,  steel  stars  flashed,  rose,  fell  again, 
Then  paused,  leaned  low,  as  pitying, 
And  leaning  so  they  ceased  to  sing, 
The  while  the  moon,  with  mother  care, 
Slow  rocked  her  silver  rocking-chair. 

v 

Night  here,  mid-year,  is  as  a  span ; 
Thor  comes,  a  gold-clad  king  of  war, 
Comes  only  as  the  great  Thor  can. 
Thor  storms  the  battlements  and  Thor, 
Far  leaping,  clinging  crowned  upon, 

42 


LIGHT 

Throws  battle  hammer  forth  and  back 
Until  the  walls  blaze  in  his  track 
With  sparks  and  it  is  sudden  dawn  — 
Dawn,  sudden,  sparkling,  as  a  gem  — 
A  jeweled,  frost-set  diadem 
Of  diamond,  ruby,  radium. 

VI 

Two  tallest,  ice-tipt  peaks  take  flame, 

Take  yellow  flame,  take  crimson,  pink, 

Then,  ere  you  yet  have  time  to  think, 

Take  hues  that  never  yet  had  name. 

Then  turret,  minaret,  and  tower, 

As  if  to  mark  some  mystic  hour, 

Or  ancient,  lost  Masonic  sign, 

Take  on  a  darkness  like  to  night, 

Deep  night  below  the  yellow  light 

That  erstwhile  seemed  some  snow-white  tomb. 

Then  all  is  set  in  ghostly  gloom, 

As  some  dim-lighted,  storied  shrine  — 

As  if  the  stars  forget  to  stay 

At  court  when  comes  the  kingly  day. 

VII 

And  now  the  high-built  shafts  of  brass, 
Gate  posts  that  guard  the  tomb-set  pass, 
Put  off  their  crowns,  rich  robes,  and  all 
43 


L  I  G'H  T 

Their  sudden,  splendid  light  let  fall; 
And  tomb  and  minaret  and  tower 
Again  gleam  as  that  midnight  hour. 
While  day,  as  scorning  still  to  wait, 
Drives  fiercely  through  the  ice-built  gate 
That  guards  the  Arctic's  outer  hem 
Of  white,  high-built  Jerusalem. 

VIII 

To  see,  to  guess  the  great  white  throne, 
Behold  Alaska's  ice-built  steeps 
Where  everlasting  silence  keeps 
And  white  death  lives  and  lords  alone: 
Go  see  God's  river  born  full  grown  — 
The  gold  of  this  stream  it  is  good: 
Here  grows  the  Ark's  white  gopher  wood 
A  wide,  white  land,  unnamed,  unknown, 
A  land  of  mystery  and  moan. 

IX 

Tall,  trim,  slim  gopher  trees  incline, 
A  leaning,  laden,  helpless  copse, 
And  moan  and  creak  and  intertwine 
Their  laden,  twisted,  tossing  tops, 
And  moan  all  night  and  moan  all  day 
With  winds  that  walk  these  steeps  alway. 


44 


LIGHT 

X 

The  melancholy  moose  looks  down, 
A  tattered  Capuchin  in  brown, 
A  gaunt,  ungainly,  mateless  monk, 
An  elephant  without  his  trunk, 
While  far,  against  the  gleaming  blue, 
High  up  a  rock-topt  ridge  of  snow, 
Where  scarce  a  dream  would  care  to  go, 
Climb  countless  blue-clad  caribou, 
In  endless  line  till  lost  to  view. 

XI 

The  rent  ice  surges,  grinds,  and  groans, 
Then  gorges,  backs,  and  climbs  the  shore, 
Then  breaks  with  sudden  rage  and  roar 
And  plunging,  leaping,  foams  and  moans 
Swift  down  the  surging,  seething  stream  — 
Mad  hurdles  of  some  monstrous  dream. 

XII 

To  see  God's  river  born  full  grown, 
To  see  him  burst  the  womb  of  earth 
And  leap,  a  giant  at  his  birth, 
Through  shoreless  whiteness,  with  wild  shout 
A  shout  so  sharp,  so  cold,  so  dread 
You  see,  feel,  hear,  his  sheeted  dead  — 
'Tis  as  to  know,  no  longer  doubt, 
45 


LIGHT 


Tis  as  to  know  the  eld  Unknown, 
Aye,  bow  before  the  great  white  throne. 

XIII 

White-hooded  nuns,  steeps  gleaming  white, 
Lean  o'er  his  cradle,  left  and  right, 
And  weep  the  while  he  moans  and  cries 
And  rends  the  earth  with  agonies; 
High  ice-heaved  summits  where  no  thing 
Has  yet  set  foot  or  flashed  a  wing  — 
Bare  ice-built  summits  where  the  white 
Wide  world  is  but  a  sea  of  white  — 
White  kneeling  nuns  that  kneel  and  feed 
The  groaning  ice  god  in  his  greed, 
And  feed,  forever  feed,  man's  soul. 
The  full-grown  river  bounds  right  on 
From  out  his  birthplace  tow'rd  the  Pole; 
He  knows  no  limit,  no  control: 
He  scarce  is  here  till  he  is  gone  — 
This  sudden,  mad,  ice-born  Yukon. 

XIV 

Beyond  white  plunging  Chilkoot  Pass, 
That  trackless  Pass  of  stately  tombs, 
Of  midday  glories,  midnight  glooms, 
Of  morn's  great  gate  posts,  girt  in  brass  — 
This  courtier,  born  to  nature's  court, 
This  comrade,  peer  of  peaks,  still  kept 


LIGHT 

Companion  with  the  stars  and  leapt 
And  laughed,  the  gliding  sea  of  glass 
Beneath  his  feet  in  merry  sport. 

xv 

Then  mute  red  men,  the  quick  canoe, 
Then  o'er  the  ice-born  surge  and  on, 
Till  gleaming  snows  and  steeps  were  gone, 
Till  wide,  deep  waters,  swirling,  blue, 
Received  the  sudden,  swift  canoe, 
That  leapt  and  laughed  and  laughing  flew. 

XVI 

Then  tall,  lean  trees,  girth  scarce  a  span, 
With  moss-set,  moss-hung  banks  of  gold 
Most  rich  in  hue,  more  gorgeous  than 
Silk  carpetings  of  Turkestan: 
Deep  yellow  mosses,  rich  as  gold, 
More  gorgeous  than  the  eye  of  man 
Hath  seen  save  in  this  wonderland  — 
Then  flashing,  tumbling,  headlong  waves 
Below  white,  ice-bound,  ice-built  shores  — 
The  river  swept  a  seam  of  white 
Where  basalt  bluffs  made  day  like  night. 
And  then  they  heard  no  sound,  the  oars 
Were  idle,  still  as  grassy  graves. 


47 


LIGHT 
XVII 

And  then  the  mad,  tumultuous  moon 
Spilt  silver  seas  to  plunge  upon, 
Possessed  the  land,  a  sea  of  white. 
That  white  moon  rivaled  the  red  dawn 
And  slew  the  very  name  of  night, 
And  walked  the  grave  of  afternoon  — 
That  vast,  vehement,  stark  mad  moon! 

XVIII 

The  wide,  still  waters,  sedgy  shore, 
A  lank,  brown  wolf,  a  hungry  howl, 
A  lean  and  hungry  midday  moon; 
And  then  again  the  red  man's  oar  — 
A  wide-winged,  mute,  white  Arctic  owl, 
A  black,  red-crested,  screeching  loon 
That  knew  not  night  from  middle  noon, 
Nor  gold-robed  sun  from  lean,  lank  moon  — 
That  crazy,  black,  red-crested  loon. 

XIX 

Swift  narrows  now,  and  now  and  then 
A  broken  boat  with  drowning  men; 
The  wide,  still  marshes,  dank  as  death, 
Where  honked  the  wild  goose  long  and  loud 
With  unabated,  angry  breath. 
Black  swallows  twittered  in  a  cloud 
48 


LIGHT 

Above  the  broad  mosquito  marsh, 
The  wild  goose  honked,  forlorn  and  harsh; 
Honked,  fluttered,  flew  in  warlike  mood 
Above  her  startled,  myriad  brood, 
The  while  the  melancholy  moose, 
As  if  to  mock  the  honking  goose, 
Forsook  his  wall,  plunged  in  the  wave 
And  sank,  as  sinking  in  a  grave, 
Sank  to  his  eyes,  his  great,  sad  eyes, 
And  watched,  in  wonder,  mute  surprise, 
Watched  broken  barge  and  drowning  men 
Drift,  swirl,  then  plunge  the  gorge  again. 

xx 

Again  that  great  white  Arctic  owl, 
As  pitying,  it  perched  the  bank 
Where  swirled  a  barge  and  swirling  sank  — 
A  drowned  man  swirling  with  white  face 
Low  lifting  from  the  swift  whirlpool. 
That  distant,  doleful,  hilltop  howl  — 
That  screaming,  crimson-crested  fool! 
And  oh,  that  eerie,  ice-made  moon 
That  hung  the  cobalt  tent  of  blue 
And  looked  straight  down,  to  look  you  through, 
That  dead  man  swirling  in  his  place, 
That  honking,  honking,  huge  gray  goose, 
That  solitary,  sad-eyed  moose, 
49 


LIGHT 

That  owl,  that  wolf,  that  human  loon, 
And  oh,  that  death's  head,  hideous  moon! 

XXI 

And  this  the  Yukon,  night  by  night, 
The  yellow  Yukon,  day  by  day; 
A  land  of  death,  vast,  voiceless,  white, 
A  graveyard  locked  in  ice-set  clay, 
A  graveyard  to  the  Judgment  Day. 

XXII 

On,  on,  the  swirling  pool  was  gone, 
On,  on,  the  boat  swept  on,  swept  on, 
That  moon  was  as  a  thousand  moons! 
Two  dead  men  swirled,  one  swept,  one  sank 
Two  wolves,  two  owls,  two  yelling  loons! 
And  now  three  loons!     How  many  moons? 
How  many  white  owls  perch  the  shore? 
Three  lank,  black  wolves  along  the  bank 
That  watch  the  drowned  men  swirl  or  sink! 
Three  screeching  loons  along  the  brink  — 
That  moon  disputing  with  the  dawn 
That  dared  the  yellow,  dread  Yukon! 

XXIII 

And  why  so  like  some  lorn  graveyard 
Where  only  owls  and  loons  may  say 
And  life  goes  by  the  other  way? 

5° 


LIGHT 

Aye,  why  so  hideous  and  so  hard, 
So  deathly  hard  to  look  upon? 
Because  this  cold,  wild,  dread  Yukon, 
Of  gold-sown  banks,  of  sea  white  waves, 
Is  but  one  land,  one  sea  of  graves. 

XXIV 

Behold  where  bones  hang  either  bank! 
Great  tusks  of  beasts  before  the  flood 
That  floated  here  and  floating  sank  — 
'Mid  ice-locked  walls  and  ice-hung  steep, 
With  muck  and  stone  and  moss  and  mud, 
Where  only  death  and  darkness  keep! 
Lo,  this  is  death-land!     Heap  on  heap, 
By  ice-strown  strand  or  rock-built  steep, 
By  moss-brown  walls,  gray,  green  or  blue, 
The  Yukon  cleaves  a  graveyard  through! 
Three  thousand  miles  of  tusk  and  bone, 
Strown  here,  strown  there,  all  heedless  strown, 
All  strown  and  sown  just  as  they  lay 
That  time  the  fearful  deluge  passed, 
Safe  locked  in  ices  to  the  last, 
Safe  locked,  as  records  laid  away, 
To  wait,  to  wait,  the  Judgment  Day. 

XXV 

He  landed,  pierced  the  ice-locked  earth, 
He  burned  it  to  the  very  bone  — 
51 


LIGHT 

Burned  and  laid  bare  the  deep  bedstone 

Placed  at  the  building,  at  the  birth 

Of  morn,  and  here,  there,  everywhere, 

Such  bones  of  bison,  mastodon! 

Such  tusky  monsters  without  name! 

Great  ice-bound  bones  with  flesh  scarce  gone, 

So  fresh  the  wild  dogs  nightly  came 

To  fight  about  and  feast  upon. 

And  gold  along  the  bedrock  lay 

So  bounteous  below  the  bones 

Men  barely  need  to  turn  the  stones 

To  fill  their  skins,  within  the  day, 

With  rich,  red  gold  and  go  their  way. 

XXVI 

"The  gold  of  that  place  it  is  good." 
Lo,  here  God  laid  the  Paradise! 
Lo,  here  each  witness  of  the  flood, 
Tight  jailed  in  ice  eternal,  lies 
To  wait  the  bailiff's  chorus  call: 
"Come  into  court,  come  one,  come  all!" 
But  why  so  cold,  so  deathly  cold 
The  battered  beasts,  the  scattered  gold, 
The  pleasant  trees  of  Paradise, 
Deep  locked  in  everlasting  ice? 


LIGHT 
XXVII 

Oyez!  the  red  man's  simple  tale; 
He  says  that  once,  o'er  hill  and  vale, 
Ripe  fruits  hung  ready  all  the  year; 
That  man  knew  neither  frost  nor  fear, 
That  bison  wallowed  to  the  eyes 
In  grass,  that  palm  trees  brushed  the  skies 
Where  birds  made  music  all  day  long. 
That  then  a  great  chief  shaped  a  spear 
Bone-tipt  and  sharp  and  long  and  strong, 
And  made  a  deadly  moon-shaped  bow, 
And  then  a  flint-tipt  arrow  wrought. 
Then  cunning,  snake  like,  creeping  low, 
As  creeps  a  cruel  cat,  he  sought 
And  in  sheer  wantonness  he  shot 
A  large-eyed,  trusting,  silly  roe. 
And  then,  exultant,  crazed,  he  slew 
Ten  bison,  ten  tame  bear  and,  too, 
A  harmless,  long-limbed,  shambling  moose; 
That  then  the  smell  of  blood  let  loose 
The  passions  of  all  men  and  all 
Uprose  and  slew,  or  great  or  small  — 
Uprose  and  slew  till  hot  midday 
All  four-foot  creatures  in  their  way; 
Then  proud,  defiant,  every  one, 
Shook  his  red  spear-point  at  the  sun. 
53 


LIGHT 

XXVIII 

Then  God  said,  through  a  mist  of  tears, 
"What  would  ye,  braves  made  mad  with  blood?" 
And  then  they  shook  their  bone-tipt  spears 
And  cried,  "The  sun  it  is  not  good! 
Too  hot  the  sun,  too  long  the  day; 
Break  off  and  throw  the  end  away!" 

XXIX 

Then  God,  most  angered  instantly, 
Drew  down  the  day  from  out  the  sky 
And  brake  the  day  across  his  knee 
And  hurled  the  fragments  hot  and  high 
And  far  down  till  they  fell  upon 
The  bronzing  waves  of  dread  Yukon, 
Nor  spared  the  red  men  one  dim  ray 
Of  light  to  lead  them  on  their  way. 

XXX 

And  then  the  red  men  filled  the  lands 
With  wailing  for  just  one  faint  ray 
Of  light  to  guide  them  home  that  they 
Might  wash  and  cleanse  their  blood-red  hands. 

XXXI 

But  God  said,  "Yonder,  far  away 
Down  yon  Yukon,  your  broken  day! 
54 


LIGHT 

Go  gather  it  from  out  the  night! 
That  fitful,  fearful  Northern  Light, 
Is  all  that  ye  shall  ever  know 
To  guide  henceforth  the  way  you  go. 

XXXII 

"  You  shall  not  see  my  face  again, 
But  you  shall  see  cold  death  instead. 
This  land  hath  sinned,  this  land  is  dead; 
You  drenched  your  beauteous  land  in  blood, 
And  now  behold  the  wild,  white  rain 
Shall  fall  until  a  drowning  flood 
Shall  fill  all  things  above,  below, 
To  wash  away  the  smell  of  blood, 
And  birds  shall  die  and  beasts  be  dumb, 
When  cold,  the  cold  of  death  shall  come 
And  weave  a  piteous  shroud  of  snow, 
In  graveyard  silence,  ever  so." 

XXXIII 

The  red  men  say  that  then  the  rain 
Drowned  all  the  fires  of  the  world, 
Then  drowned  the  fires  of  the  moon' 
That  then  the  sun  came  not  again, 
Save  in  the  middle  summer  noon, 
When  hot,  red  lances  they  had  hurled 
Are  hurled  at  them  like  fiery  rain, 
Till  Yukon  rages  like  a  main. 
55 


LIGHT 
XXXIV 

With  bated  breath  these  skin-clad  men 
Tell  why  the  big-nosed  moose  foreknew 
The  flood;  how,  bandy-legged,  he  flew 
Far  up  high  Saint  Elias :  how, 
Down  in  the  slope  of  his  left  horn, 
The  raven  rested,  night  and  morn; 
How,  in  the  hollow  of  his  right, 
The  dove-hued  moose-bird  nestled  low 
Until  they  touched  the  utmost  height; 
How  dove  and  raven  soon  took  flight 
And  winged  them  forth  and  far  away; 
But  how  the  moose  did  stay  and  stay, 
His  great  sad  eyes  all  wet  with  tears, 
And  keep  his  steeps  two  thousand  years. 

xxxv 

He  heard  the  half  nude  red  men  say, 
Close  huddled  to  the  flame  at  night, 
How  in  the  hollow  of  a  palm 
A  woman  and  a  water  rat, 
That  dreadful,  darkened,  drowning  day, 
Crept  close  and  nestled  in  their  fright; 
And  how  a  bear,  tame  as  a  lamb, 
Came  to  them  in  the  tree  and  sat 
The  long,  long  drift-time  to  the  sea, 
The  while  the  wooing  water  rat 

56 


LIGHT 

Made  love  to  her  incessantly; 

How  then  the  bear  became  a  priest 

And  married  them  at  last;  how  then 

To  them  was  born  the  shortest,  least 

Of  all  the  children  of  all  men, 

And  yet  most  cunning  and  most  brave 

Of  all  who  dare  the  bleak  north  wave. 

xxxvi 

What  tales  of  tropic  fruit!     No  tale 
But  of  some  soft,  sweet,  sensuous  clime, 
Of  love  and  lovely  maiden's  trust  — 
Some  peopled,  pleasant,  palm-hung  vale 
Of  everlasting  summer  time  — 
And,  then  the  deadly  sin  of  lust; 
Forbidden  fruit,  shame  and  disgust! 

XXXVII 

And  whence  the  story  of  it  all, 
The  palm  land,  love  land  and  the  fall? 
Was't  born  of  ages  of  desire 
From  such  sad  children  of  the  snows 
For  something  fairer,  better,  higher? 
God  knows,  God  knows,  God  only  knows. 
But  I  should  say,  hand  laid  to  heart 
And  head  made  bare,  as  I  would  swear, 
These  piteous,  sad-faced  children  there 
57 


LIGHT 

Knew  Eden,  the  expulsion,  knew 
The  deluge,  knew  the  deluge  true! 

XXXVIII 

And  what  though  this  be  surely  so? 
Just  this:  I  know,  as  all  men  know, 
As  few  before  this  surely  knew  — 
Just  this,  and  count  it  great  or  small, 
The  best  of  you  or  worst  of  you, 
The  Bible,  lid  to  lid,  is  true! 

CANTO  II 


'TPHE  year  waxed  weary,  gouty,  old; 
-•*     The  crisp  days  dwindled  to  a  span, 
The  dying  year  it  fell  as  cold 
As  dead  feet  of  a  dying  man. 
The  hard,  long,  weary  work  was  done, 
The  dark,  deep  pits  probed  to  the  bone, 
And  each  had  just  one  tale  to  tell. 
Ten  thousand  argonauts  as  one, 
Agnostic,  Christian,  infidel, 
All  said,  despite  of  creed  or  class, 
All  said  as  one,  "As  surely  as 
The  Bible  is,  the  deluge  was, 
Whate'er  the  curse,  whate'er  the  cause!" 

58 


LIGHT 


What  merry  men  these  miners  were, 

And  mighty  in  their  pent-up  force! 

They  wrought  for  her,  they  fought  for  her, 

For  her  alone,  or  night  or  day, 

In  tent  or  camp,  their  one  discourse 

The  Love  three  thousand  miles  away, 

The  Love  who  waked  to  watch  and  pray. 

in 

Yet  rude  were  they  and  brutal  they, 
Their  love  a  blended  love  and  lust, 
Born  of  this  later,  loveless  day; 
You  could  but  love  them  for  their  truth, 
Their  frankness  and  their  fiery  youth, 
And  yet  turn  from  them  in  disgust, 
To  loathe,  to  pity,  and  mistrust. 

IV 

The  Siege  of  Troy  knew  scarce  such  men, 
Such  hardy,  daring  men  as  they, 
The  coward  had  not  voyaged  then, 
The  weak  had  died  upon  the  way. 

v 

They  sang,  they  sang  some  like  to  this, 
"  I  say  risk  all  for  one  warm  kiss; 

59 


LIGHT 

I  say  'twere  better  risk  the  fall, 

Like  Romeo,  to  venture  all 

And  boldly  climb  to  deadly  bliss." 

VI 

I  like  that  savage,  Sabine  way; 
What  mighty  minstrels  came  of  it! 
Their  songs  are  ringing  to  this  day, 
The  bravest  ever  sung  or  writ; 
Their  loves  the  love  of  Juliet, 
Of  Portia,  Desdemona,  yea, 
The  old  true  loves  are  living  yet; 
And  we,  we  love,  we  weep,  we  sigh, 
In  love  with  loves  that  will  not  die. 

VII 

Then  take  her,  lover,  sword  in  hand, 
Hot-blooded  and  red-handed,  clasp 
Her  sudden,  stormy,  tall  and  grand, 
And  lift  her  in  your  iron  grasp 
And  kiss  her,  kiss  her  till  she  cries 
From  keen,  sweet,  happy,  killing  pain. 
Aye,  kiss  her  till  she  seeming  dies; 
Aye,  kiss  her  till  she  dies,  and  then, 
Why  kiss  her  back  to  life  again! 


60 


LIGHT 

VIII 

I  love  all  things  that  truly  love, 
I  love  the  low-voiced  cooing  dove 
In  wooing  time,  he  woos  so  true, 
His  soft  notes  fall  so  overfull 
Of  love  they  thrill  me  through  and  through. 
But  when  the  thunder-throated  bull 
Upheaves  his  head  and  shakes  the  air 
With  eloquence  and  battle's  blare, 
And  roars  and  tears  the  earth  to  woo, 
I  like  his  warlike  wooing  too. 

IX 

Yet  best  to  love  that  lover  is 
Who  loves  all  things  beneath  the  sun, 
Then  finds  all  fair  things  in  just  one, 
And  finds  all  fortune  in  one  kiss. 

x 

How  wisely  born,  how  more  than  wise, 
How  wisely  learned  must  be  that  soul 
Who  loves  all  earth,  all  Paradise, 
All  people,  places,  pole  to  pole, 
Yet  in  one  kiss  includes  the  whole! 

XI 

Give  me  a  lover  ever  bold, 
A  lover  clean,  keen,  sword  in  hand, 
61 


LIGHT 

Like  to  those  white-plumed  knights  of  old 
Whose  loves  held  honor  in  the  land; 
Those  men  with  hot  blood  in  their  veins 
And  hot,  swift,  iron  hand  to  kill  — 
Those  women  loving  well  the  chains 
That  bound  them  fast  against  their  will; 
Yet  loved  and  lived  —  are  living  still. 

XII 

Enough:  the  bronzed  man  launched  his  boat, 
A  faithful  dwarf  clutched  at  the  oar, 
And  Boreas  began  to  roar 
As  if  to  break  his  burly  throat. 

XIII 

Down,  down  by  basalt  palisade, 
Down,  down  by  bleakest  ice-piled  isle! 
The  mute,  dwarf  water  rat  afraid? 
The  water  rat  it  could  but  smile 
To  hear  the  cold,  wild  waters  roar 
Against  his  savage  Arctic  shore. 

XIV 

But  now  he  listened,  gave  a  shout, 
A  startled  cry,  akin  to  fear. 
The  hand  of  God  had  reached  swift  out 
And  locked,  as  in  an  iron  vise, 
The  whole  white  world  in  blue-black  ice, 
62 


LIGHT 

And  daylight  scarce  seemed  living  more. 
The  day,  the  year,  the  world,  lay  dead. 
With  star-tipt  candles  foot  and  head; 
Great  stars,  that  burn  a  whole  half  year, 
Stood  forth,  five-horned,  and  near,  so  near! 

xv 

The  ghost-white  day  scarce  drew  a  breath, 
The  dying  day  shrank  to  a  span; 
There  was  no  life  save  that  of  man 
And  woolly  dogs  —  man,  dogs,  and  death! 
The  sun,  a  mass  of  molten  gold, 
Surged  feebly  up,  then  sudden  rolled 
Right  back  as  in  a  beaten  track 
And  left  the  white  world  to  the  moon 
And  five-horned  stars  of  gleaming  gold; 
Such  stars  as  sang  in  silent  rune  — 
And  oh,  the  cold,  such  killing  cold 
As  few  have  felt  and  none  have  told! 

XVI 

And  now  he  knew  the  last  dim  light 
Lay  on  yon  ice-shaft,  steep  and  far, 
Where  stood  one  bold,  triumphant  star, 
And  he  would  dare  the  gleaming  height, 
Would  see  the  death-bed  of  the  day, 
Whatever  fate  might  make  of  it. 
A  foolish  thing,  yet  were  it  fit 

63 


LIGHT 


That  he  who  dared  to  love,  to  say, 
To  live,  should  look  the  last  of  Light 
Full  in  the  face,  then  go  his  way 
All  silent  into  lasting  night 
As  he  had  left  her,  on  her  height? 

XVII 

He  climbed,  he  climbed,  he  neared  at  last 

The  Golden  Fleece  of  flitting  Light! 

When  sudden  as  an  eagle's  flight  — 

An  eagle  frightened  from  its  nest 

That  crowns  the  topmost,  rock-reared  crest 

It  swooped,  it  drooped,  it,  dying,  passed. 

XVIII 

As  when  some  sunny,  poppy  day 
The  Mariposa  scatters  gold 
The  while  he  takes  his  happy  flight, 
Like  star  dust  when  the  day  is  old, 
So  passed  his  Light  and  all  was  night 

XIX 

Some  star-like  scattered  flecks  of  gold 
Flashed  from  the  far  and  fading  wings 
That  kept  the  sky,  like  living  things  — 
Then  oh,  the  cold,  the  cruel  cold! 
The  light,  the  life  of  him  had  past, 


LIGHT 

The  spirit  of  the  day  had  fled; 
The  lover  of  God's  first-born,  Light, 
Descended,  mourning  for  his  dead. 
The  last  of  light,  the  very  last 
He  deemed  that  he  should  look  upon 
Until  God's  everlasting  dawn 
Beyond  this  dread  half  year  of  night 
Had  fled  forever  from  his  sight. 

xx 

Twas  death  to  go,  thrice  death  to  stay. 
Turn  back,  go  southward,  seek  the  sun? 
Yea,  better  die  in  search  of  light, 
Die  boldly,  face  set  forth  for  day, 
As  many  dauntless  men  have  done, 
Than  wail  at  fate  and  house  with  night. 

XXI 

Some  woolly  dogs,  a  low,  dwarf-chief  — 
His  trained  thews  stood  him  now  in  stead 
Broad  snow-shoes,  skins,  a  laden  sled.  — 
That  moon  was  as  a  brazen  thief 
That  dares  to  mock,  laugh,  and  carouse! 
It  followed,  followed  everywhere; 
He  hid  his  face,  that  moon  was  there. 
Such  painful  light,  such  piteous  pain! 
It  broke  into  his  very  brain, 
As  breaks  a  burglar  in  a  house. 


LIGHT 


XXII 

Scarce  seen,  a  change  came,  slow,  so  slow! 
That  moon  sank  slowly  out  of  sight, 
The  lower  world  of  gleaming  white 
Took  on  a  somber  band  of  woe, 
A  wall  of  umber  'round  about, 
So  dim  at  first  you  could  but  doubt, 
That  change  there  was,  day  after  day  — 
Nay,  nay,  not  day,  I  can  but  say 
Sleep  after  sleep,  sleep  after  sleep  — 
That  band  grew  darker,  deep,  more  deep, 
Until  there  girt  a  dense  dark  wall, 
A  low,  black  wall  of  ebon  hue, 
Oppressive,  deathlike  as  a  pall; 
It  walked  with  you,  close  compassed  you, 
While  not  one  thread  of  light  shot  through. 
Above  the  black  a  gird  of  brown 
Soft  blending  into  amber  hue, 
And  then  from  out  the  cobalt  blue 
Great,  massive,  golden  stars  swung  down 
Like  tow'rd  lights  of  mountain  town. 

XXIII 

At  last  the  moon  moved  gaunt  and  slow, 
Half  veiled  her  hollow,  hungry  face 
In  amber,  kept  unsteady  pace 
66 


LIGHT 

High  up  her  star-set  wall  of  snow, 
Nor  scarcely  deigned  to  look  below. 

XXIV 

Then  far  beyond,  above  the  night, 

Above  the  umber,  amber  hue, 

Above  the  lean  moon's  blare  and  blight, 

One  mighty  ice  shaft  shimmered  through; 

One  gleaming  peak,  as  white,  as  lone 

As  you  could  think  the  great  white  throne 

Stood  up  against  the  cobalt  blue, 

And  kept  companion  with  the  stars 

Despite  dusk  walls  or  umber  bars. 

XXV 

That  wall,  that  hideous  prison  wall, 
That  blackness,  umber,  amber  hue, 
It  cumbers  you,  encircles  you, 
It  mantles  as  a  hearse's  pall. 
Your  eyes  lift  to  the  star-pricked  sky, 
You  lift  your  frosted  face,  you  pray 
That  e'en  the  sickly  moon  might  stay 
A  time,  if  but  to  see  you  die. 
Yet  how  it  blinds  you,  body,  soul! 
You  can  no  longer  keep  control. 
Your  feebled  senses  fall  astray: 
You  cannot  think,  you  dare  not  say. 


LIGHT 

XXVI 

And  now  such  under  gleam  of  light, 

Such  blazing,  flaming,  frightful  glare; 

Such  sudden,  deadly,  lightning  gleam, 

Some  like  a  monstrous,  mad  nightmare  — 

Such  hideous  light,  born  of  such  night! 

It  burst,  with  changeful  interval, 

From  out  the  ice  beneath  the  wall, 

From  out  the  groaning,  surging  stream 

That  breathed,  or  tried  to  breathe,  in  vain, 

That  struggled,  strangled,  shrieked  with  pain! 

'Twas  as  if  he  of  Patmos  read, 

Sat  by  with  burning  pen  and  said, 

With  piteous  and  prophetic  voice, 

"The  earth  shall  pass  with  rustling  noise." 

XXVII 

Swift  out  the  ice-crack,  fiery  red, 

Swift  up  the  umber  wall  and  back, 

Then  'round  and  'round,  up,  down  and  back, 

The  sudden  lightning  sped  and  sped, 

Until  the  walls  hung  burnished  red, 

An  instant  red,  then  yellow,  white, 

With  something  more  than  earthly  light. 


68 


LIGHT 


XXVIII 

It  blinds  your  eyes  until  they  burn, 

Until  you  dare  not  look  or  turn, 

But  think  of  him  who  saw  and  told 

The  story  of,  the  glory  of, 

The  jasper  walls,  the  streets  of  gold, 

Where  trails  God's  unseen  garments'  hem 

The  holy  New  Jerusalem. 

XXIX 

Then  while  he  trudged  he  tried  to  think  — 
And  then  another  sudden  light, 
Or  red  or  yellow,  blue  or  white, 
Burst  up  from  out  the  very  brink 
Of  where  he  passed  and,  left  or  right, 
It  burnished  yet  again  the  walls! 
Then  up,  straight  up  against  the  stars 
That  seemed  as  jostled,  rent  with  jars! 
Then  silent  night.     Where  next  and  when? 
Then  blank,  black  interval,  and  then  — 
And  oh,  those  blank,  dread  intervals, 
This  writing  on  the  umber  walls! 

XXX 

The  blazing  Borealis  passed, 
The  umber  walls  fell  down  at  last 
And  left  the  great  cathedral  stars, — 

69 


LIGHT 

The  five-horned  stars,  blent,  burnished  bars 
Of  gold,  red,  gleaming,  blinding  gold  — 
And  still  the  cold,  the  killing  cold! 

XXXI 

The  moon  resumed  all  heaven  now, 
She  shepherded  the  stars  below 
Along  her  wide,  white  steeps  of  snow, 
Nor  stooped  nor  rested,  where  or  how. 
She  bared  her  full  white  breast,  she  dared 
The  sun  e'er  show  his  face  again. 
She  seemed  to  know  no  change,  she  kept 
Carousal  constantly,  nor  slept, 
Nor  turned  aside  a  breath,  nor  spared 
The  fearful  meaning,  the  mad  pain, 
The  weary  eyes,  the  poor,  dazed  brain 
That  came  at  last  to  feel,  to  see 
The  dread,  dead  touch  of  lunacy. 

XXXII 

How  loud  the  silence!    Oh,  how  loud! 
How  more  than  beautiful  the  shroud 
Of  dead  Light  in  the  moon-mad  north 
When  great  torch-tipping  stars  stand  forth 
Above  the  black,  slow-moving  pall 
As  at  some  fearful  funeral ! 


70 


LIGHT 


XXXIII 

The  moon  blares  as  mad  trumpets  blare 
To  marshaled  warriors  long  and  loud: 
The  cobalt  blue  knows  not  a  cloud, 
But  oh,  beware  that  moon,  beware 
Her  ghostly,  graveyard,  moon-mad  stare! 

xxxiv 

Beware  white  silence  more  than  white! 
Beware  the  five-horned  starry  rune; 
Beware  the  groaning  gorge  below; 
Beware  the  wide,  white  world  of  snow, 
Where  trees  hang  white  as  hooded  nun  — 
No  thing  not  white,  not  one,  not  one, 
But  most  beware  that  mad  white  moon. 

xxxv 

All  day,  all  day,  all  night,  all  night  — 
Nay,  nay,  not  yet  or  night  or  day. 
Just  whiteness,  whiteness,  ghastly  white 
Made  doubly  white  by  that  mad  moon 
And  strange  stars  jangled  out  of  tune! 

xxxvi 

At  last  he  saw,  or  seemed  to  see, 
Above,  beyond,  another  world. 
Far  up  the  ice-hung  path  there  curled 


LIGHT 


A  red-veined  cloud,  a  canopy 
That  topt  the  fearful  ice-built  peak 
That  seemed  to  prop  the  very  porch 
Of  God's  house;  then,  as  if  a  torch 
Burned  fierce,  there  flashed  a  fiery  streak, 
A  flush,  a  blush  on  heaven's  cheek! 

XXXVII 

The  dogs  sat  down,  men  sat  the  sled 

And  watched  the  flush,  the  blush  of  red. 

The  little  woolly  dogs  they  knew, 

Yet  scarce  knew  what  they  were  about. 

They  thrust  their  noses  up  and  out, 

They  drank  the  Light,  what  else  to  do? 

Their  little  feet,  so  worn,  so  true, 

Could  scare  keep  quiet  for  delight. 

They  knew,  they  knew,  how  much  they  knew, 

The  mighty  breaking  up  of  night! 

Their  bright  eyes  sparkled  with  such  joy 

That  they  at  last  should  see  loved  Light! 

The  tandem  sudden  broke  all  rule, 

Swung  back,  each  leaping  like  a  boy 

Let  loose  from  some  dark,  ugly  school  — 

Leaped  up  and  tried  to  lick  his  hand  — 

Stood  up  as  happy  children  stand. 


LIGHT 


XXXVIII 

How  tenderly  God's  finger  set 
His  crimson  flower  on  that  height 
Above  the  battered  walls  of  night! 
A  little  space  it  flourished  yet, 
And  then  His  angel,  His  first-born, 
Burst  through,  as  on  that  primal  morn! 

XXXIX 

His  right  hand  held  a  sword  of  flame, 
His  left  hand  javelins  of  light, 
And  swift  down,  down,  right  down  he  came! 
His  bright  wings  wide  as  the  wide  sky, 
And  right  and  left,  and  hip  and  thigh, 
He  smote  the  marshaled  hosts  of  night 
With  all  his  majesty  and  might. 

XL 

The  scared  moon  paled  and  she  forgot 

Her  pomp  and  pride  and  turned  to  fly. 

The  ice-heaved  palisades,  the  high 

Heaved  peaks  that  propped  God's  house,  the  stars 

That  flamed  above  the  prison  bars, 

As  battle  stars  with  fury  fraught, 

Were  burned  to  ruin  and  were  not. 


73 


LIGHT 

XLI 

Then  glad  earth  shook  her  raiment  wide, 
And  free  and  far,  and  stood  up  tall, 
As  some  proud  woman,  satisfied, 
Forgets,  and  yet  remembers  all. 
She  stood  exultant,  till  her  form, 
A  queen  above  some  battle  storm, 
Blazed  with  the  glory,  the  delight 
Of  battle  with  the  hosts  of  night. 
And  night  was  broken.     Light  at  last 
Lay  on  the  Yukon.     Night  had  passed. 

CANTO  III 


'T^HE  days  grew  longer,  stronger,  yet 

The  strong  man  grew  then  as  a  child. 
Too  hard  the  tension  and  too  wild 
The  terror;  he  could  not  forget. 
And  now  at  last  when  Light  was,  now 
He  could  not  see  nor  lift  his  eyes, 
Nor  lift  a  hand  in  any  wise. 
It  was  as  when  a  race  is  won 
By  some  strong  favorite  athlete, 
Then  sinks  down  dying  at  your  feet. 


74 


LIGHT 


The  red  chief  led  him  on  and  on 
To  his  high  lodge  by  gorged  Yukon 
And  housed  him  kindly  as  his  own, 
Blind,  broken,  dazed,  and  so  alone! 

in 

The  low  bark  lodge  was  desolate, 

And  deathly  cold  by  night,  by  day. 

Poor,  hungered  children  of  the  snows, 

They  heaped  the  fire  as  he  froze, 

Did  all  they  could,  yet  what  could  they 

But  pity  his  most  piteous  fate 

And  pitying,  silent,  watch  and  wait? 

IV 

His  face  was  ever  to  the  wall 

Or  buried  in  his  skins;  the  light  — 

He  could  not  bear  the  light  of  day 

Nor  bear  the  heaped-up  flame  at  night  — 

Not  bear  one  touch  of  light  at  all. 

There  are  no  pains,  no  sharp  death  throes, 

So  dread  as  blindness  of  the  snows. 


He  thought  of  home,  he  thought  of  her, 
Thought  most  of  her,  and  pictured  how 
75 


LIGHT 

She  walked  in  springtime  splendor  where 
Warm  sea  winds  twined  her  heavy  hair 
In  great  Greek  braids  piled  fold  on  fold, 
Or  loosely  blown,  as  poppy's  gold. 

VI 

And  then  he  thought  of  her  afar 
Mid  follies,  and  his  soul  at  war 
With  self,  self  will,  and  iron  fate 
Grew  as  a  blackened  thing  of  hate! 
And  then  he  prayed  forgiveness,  prayed 
As  one  in  sin  and  sore  afraid. 

VII 

And  praying  so  he  dreamed,  he  dreamed 
She  sat  there  looking  in  his  face, 
Sat  silent  by  in  that  dread  place, 
Sat  silent  weeping,  so  it  seemed, 
Sat  still,  sat  weeping  silently. 
He  saw  her  tears  and  yet  he  knew, 
The  blind  man  knew  he  could  not  see, 
Scarce  hope  to  see  for  years  and  years. 
And  then  he  seemed  to  hear  her  tears, 
To  hear  them  steal  her  loose  hair  through 
And  gently  fall,  as  falls  the  dew 
And  still,  small  rain  of  summer  morn, 
That  makes  for  harvests,  yellow  corn. 


LIGHT 

VIII 

He  raised  his  hand,  he  touched  her  hair; 
He  did  not  start,  he  did  not  say; 
It  seemed  that  she  was  surely  there; 
He  only  questioned  would  she  stay. 
How  glad  he  was!    Why,  now,  what  care 
For  hunger,  blindness,  blinding  pain, 
Could  he  but  touch  her  hair  again? 

IX 

He  heard  her  rise,  give  quick  command 
To  patient,  skin-clad,  savage  man 
To  heap  the  wood,  come,  go,  and  then 
Go  feed  their  woolly  friends  at  hand, 
To  bring  fresh  stores,  still  heap  fresh  flame, 
Then  go,  then  come,  as  morning  came. 

x 

All  seemed  so  real!    He  dared  not  stir, 
Lest  he  might  break  this  dream  of  her. 
How  holy,  holy  sweet  her  voice, 
Like  benediction  o'er  the  dead! 
So  glad  he  was,  so  grateful  he, 
And  thanking  God  most  fervently, 
Forgot  his  plight,  forgot  his  pain, 
And  deep  at  heart  did  he  rejoice; 
77 


LIGHT 

Yet  prayed  he  might  not  wake  again 
To  peril,  blindness,  piteous  pain, 

XI 

Then,  as  he  hid  his  face,  she  came 

And  leaned  quite  near  and  took  his  hand. 

Twas  cold,  'twas  very  cold,  'twas  thin 

And  bony,  black,  just  skin  and  bone, 

Just  bone  and  wrinkled  mummy-skin. 

She  held  it  out  against  the  flame, 

Then  pressed  it  with  her  two  warm  hands. 

It  seemed  as  she  could  feel  the  sands 

Of  life  slow  sift  to  shadow  land. 

Close  on  his  hurt  eyes  she  laid  hand, 

The  while  she,  wearied,  nodded,  slept. 

The  flame  burned  low,  the  wind's  wild  moan 

Awakened  her.    Cold  as  a  stone 

His  starved  form,  shrunken  to  a  shade, 

Stretched  in  the  darkness,  and,  dismayed, 

She  put  the  robes  back  and  she  crept 

Close  down  beside  and  softly  laid 

Her  warm,  strong  form  to  his  and  slept, 

The  while  her  dusk  men  vigil  kept. 

XII 

That  long,  long  night,  that  needed  rest! 
Then  flames  at  morn;  her  precious  store 
78 


LIGHT 

Heaped  hard  by  on  the  earthen  floor 

While  mute  brown  men,  starved  men,  stood  by 

To  wait  the  slightest  breath  or  sigh 

Or  sign  of  wakening  request  — 

What  silence,  patience,  trust!    What  rest! 

Of  all  good  things,  I  say  the  best 

Beneath  God's  sun  is  rest,  and  —  rest. 

XIII 

She  slowly  wakened  from  her  sleep 
To  find  him  sleeping,  silent,  deep! 
What  food  for  all,  what  feast  for  all, 
To  chief  or  slave,  or  great  or  small, 
Ranged  round  the  flaming,  glowing  heap  — 
Such  lank,  lean  flank,  such  hungry  zest! 
Such  reach  of  limb,  such  rest,  such  rest! 

XIV 

Why,  he  had  gone,  had  gladly  gone 
In  quest  of  his  eternal  Light, 
Beyond  all  dolours,  that  dread  night, 
Had  she  not  reached  her  hand  and  drawn, 
Hard  drawn  him  back  and  held  him  so, 
Held  him  so  hard  he  could  not  go. 
And  yet  he  lingered  by  the  brink, 
As  dulled  and  dazed  as  you  can  think  — 
Long,  long  he  lingered,  helpless  lay, 
A  babe,  a  broken  pot  of  clay. 
79 


LIGHT 


XV 

She  made  a  broader  couch,  she  sat 
All  day  beside  and  held  his  hand 
Lest  he  might  sudden  slip  away. 
And  she  all  night  beside  him  lay, 
Lest  these  last  grains  of  sinking  sand 
Might  in  the  still  night  slip  and  pass, 
With  none  at  hand  to  turn  the  glass. 

XVI 

And  did  the  red  men  prate  thereat? 
Why,  they  had  laid  them  down  and  died 
For  her,  those  simple  dusky  sons 
Of  nature,  children  of  the  snows, 
Born  where  the  ice-bound  river  runs, 
Born  where  the  Arctic  torrent  flows. 
Look  you  for  evil?     Look  for  ill 
Or  good,  you  find  just  what  you  will. 

XVII 

He  spake  no  more  than  babe  might  speak: 
His  eyes  were  as  the  kitten's  eyes 
That  open  slowly  with  surprise 
Then  close  as  if  to  sleep  a  week; 
But  still  he  held,  as  if  he  knew, 
The  warm,  strong  hand,  the  healthful  hand, 
The  dauntless,  daring  hand  and  true, 
80 


LIGHT 

Nor,  while  he  waked,  would  his  unfold, 
But  held,  as  drowning  man  might  hold 
Who  hopes  no  more  of  life  or  land, 
But,  as  from  habit,  clutches  hand. 

XVIII 

Once,  as  she  thought  he  surely  slept, 
She  slowly  drew  herself  aside, 
He  thrust  his  hand  as  terrified, 
Caught  back  her  hand,  kissed  it  and  wept. 
Then  she,  too,  wept,  wept  tears  like  rain, 
Her  first  warm,  welcome  happy  tears, 
Drew  in  her  breath,  put  by  her  fears 
And  knew  she  had  not  dared  in  vain. 

XIX 

Yet  day  by  day,  hard  on  the  brink 
He  hung  with  half-averted  head, 
As  silent,  listless,  as  the  dead, 
As  sad  to  see  as  you  can  think. 
Their  lorn  lodge  sat  the  terraced  steep 
Above  the  wide,  wild,  groaning  stream 
That,  like  some  monster  in  a  dream, 
Cried  out  in  broken,  breathless  sleep; 
And  looking  down,  night  after  night, 
She  saw  leap  forth  that  sword  of  Light. 


81 


LIGHT 
XX 

She  guessed,  she  knew  the  flaming  sword 

That  turned  which  way  to  watch  and  ward 

^nd  guard  the  wall  and  ever  guard 

The  Tree  of  Life,  as  it  is  writ. 

The  hand,  the  hilt,  she  could  not  see, 

Nor  yet  the  true,  life-giving  tree, 

Nor  cherubim  that  cherished  it, 

But  yet  she  saw  the  flaming  sword, 

As  written  in  the  Book,  the  Word. 

XXI 

She  held  his  hand,  he  did  not  stir, 
And  as  she  nightly  sat  and  sat, 
She  silent  gazed  and  guessed  thereat. 
His  fancies  seemed  to  come  to  her; 
She  could  not  see  the  Tree  of  Life, 
How  fair  it  grew  or  where  it  grew, 
But  this  she  knew  and  surely  knew, 
That  gleaming  sword  meant  holy  strife 
To  keep  and  guard  the  Tree  of  Life. 

XXII 

Oh,  flaming  sword,  rest  not  nor  rust! 
The  Tree  of  Life  is  hewn  and  torn, 
The  Tree  of  Life  is  bowed  and  worn, 
The  Tree  of  Life  is  in  the  dust. 
82 


LIGHT 

Hew  brute  man  down,  hew  branch  and  root, 
Till  he  may  spare  the  Tree  of  Life, 
The  pale,  the  piteous  woman,  wife  — 
Till  he  shall  learn,  as  learn  he  must, 
To  lift  her  fair  face  from  the  dust. 

XXIII 

She  watched  the  wabbly  moose  at  morn 
Climb  steeply  up  the  further  steep, 
Huge,  solitary  and  forlorn. 
She  saw  him  climb,  turn,  look  and  keep 
Scared  watch,  this  wild,  ungainly  beast, 
This  mateless,  lost  thing  and  the  last 
That  roamed  before  and  since  the  flood  — 
That  climbed  and  climbed  the  topmost  hill 
As  if  he  heard  the  deluge  still. 

XXIV 

The  sparse,  brown  children  of  the  snow 
Began  to  stir,  as  sap  is  stirred 
In  springtime  by  the  song  of  bird, 
And  trudge  by,  wearily  and  slow, 
Beneath  their  load  of  dappled  skins 
That  weighed  them  down  as  weighty  sins. 

XXV 

And  oft  they  paused,  turned  and  looked  back 
Along  their  desolate  white  track, 

83 


LIGHT 

With  arched  hand  raised  to  shield  their  eyes 
Looked  back  as  if  for  something  lost 
Or  left  behind,  of  precious  cost, 
Sad-eyed  and  silent,  mutely  wise, 
As  just  expelled  from  Paradise. 

XXVI 

How  sad  their  dark,  fixed  faces  seemed, 

As  if  of  long-remembered  sins! 

They  listless  moved,  as  if  they  dreamed, 

As  if  they  knew  not  where  to  go 

In  all  their  wide,  white  world  of  snow. 

She  could  but  think  upon  the  day 

God  made  them  garments  from  the  skins 

Of  beasts,  then  turned  and  bade  them  go, 

Go  forth  as  willed  they,  to  and  fro. 

XXVII 

Between  the  cloud-capt  walls  of  snow 
A  wide-winged  raven,  croaking  low, 
Passed  and  repassed,  each  weary  day, 
And  would  not  rest,  not  go,  not  stay, 
But  ever,  ever  to  and  fro, 
As  when  forth  from  the  ark  of  old; 
And  ever  as  he  passed,  each  day 
Let  fall  one  croak,  so  cold,  so  cold 
It  seemed  to  strike  the  ice  below 


LIGHT 

And  break  in  fragments  hard  as  fate; 
It  fell  so  cold,  so  desolate. 

XXVIII 

At  last  the  sun  hung  hot  and  high, 

Hung  where  that  heartless  moon  had  hung. 

A  dove-hued  moose  bird  sudden  sung 

And  had  glad  answerings  hard  by; 

The  icy  steeps  began  to  pour 

Mad  tumult  down  the  rock-built  steep. 

The  great  Yukon  began  to  roar, 

As  if  with  pain  in  broken  sleep. 

The  breaking  ice  began  to  groan, 

The  very  mountains  seemed  to  moan. 

XXIX 

Then,  bursting  like  a  cannon's  boom, 
The  great  stream  broke  its  icy  bands, 
And  rushed  and  ran  with  outstretched  hands 
That  laid  hard  hold  the  willow  lands, 
Rent  wide  the  somber,  gopher  gloom 
And  roared  for  room,  for  room,  for  room! 

XXX 

The  stalwart  moose  climbed  hard  his  steep, 
Climbed  till  he  wallowed,  brisket  deep, 
In  soft'ning,  sinking  steeps  of  snow, 
Then  raging,  turned  to  look  below. 

85 


LIGHT 

XXXI 

He  tossed,  shook  high  his  antlered  head, 
Blew  blast  on  blast  through  his  huge  nose, 
Then,  wild  with  savage  rage  and  fright, 
He  climbed,  climbed  to  the  highest  height, 
As  if  he  felt  the  flood  once  more 
Had  come  to  swallow  sea  and  shore. 

XXXII 

The  waters  sank,  the  man  uprose, 

A  boat  of  skins,  his  Eskimo, 

Then  down  from  out  the  world  of  snow 

They  passed  to  seas  of  calm  repose 

Where  wide  sails  waited,  warm  sea  wind, 

For  mango  isles  and  tamarind. 


86 


BOOK     THIRD 


CANTO   I 


F  all  fair  trees  to  look  upon, 
Of  all  trees  "pleasant  to  the  sight," 
Give  me  the  Poet's  tree  of  white  — 
Pink  cherry  trees  of  blest  Nippon 
With  lovers  passing  to  and  fro  — 
Pink  cherry  lanes  of  Tokio: 
Ten  thousand  cherry  trees  and  each 
Hung  white  with  Poet's  plaint  and  speech. 


Of  all  fair  lands  to  look  upon, 
To  feel,  to  breathe,  at  Orient  dawn, 
I  count  this  baby  land  the  best, 
Because  here  all  things  rest  and  rest 
And  all  men  love  all  things  most  fair 
And  beautiful  and  rich  and  rare; 


LIGHT 


And  women  are  as  cherry  trees 

With  treasures  laden,  brown  with  bees. 

HI 

Of  all  loved  lands  to  look  upon, 

Give  me  this  love  land  of  Nippon, 

Its  bright,  brave  men,  its  maids  at  prayer, 

Its  peace,  its  carelessness  of  care. 

IV 

A  mobile  sea  of  silver  mist 
Sweeps  up  for  morn  to  mount  upon : 
Then  yellow,  saffron,  amethyst  — 
Such  changeful  hues  has  blest  Nippon! 
See  but  this  sunrise,  then  forget 
All  scenes,  all  suns,  all  lands  save  one, 
Just  matin  sun  and  vesper  sun; 
This  land  of  inland  seas  of  light; 
This  land  that  hardly  recks  of  night. 


The  vesper  sun  of  blest  Nippon 
Sinks  crimson  in  the  Yellow  Sea: 
The  purple  butterfly  is  gone, 
The  rainbow  bird  housed  in  his  tree  — 
Hushed,  as  the  last  loved,  trembling  note 
Still  thrills  his  tuneful  Orient  throat  — 
90 


LIGHT 

Hushed,  as  the  harper's  weary  hand 
Waits  morn  to  waken  and  command. 

VI 

Fast  homeward  bound,  brown,  busy  feet 
In  wooden  shoon  clang  up  the  street; 
But  not  through  all  the  thousand  year 
In  Buddha's  temple  may  you  hear 
One  step,  see  hue  of  sun  or  sea, 
Though  wait  you  through  eternity: 
All  is  so  still,  so  soft,  subdued  — 
The  very  walls  are  hueless  hued. 

VII 

Behold  brown,  kneeling  penitents! 
What  perfumed  place  of  silent  prayer! 
Burned  Senko-ho,  sweet  frankincense! 
And  hear  what  silence  everywhere! 
Pale,  pensive  priests  pass  here  and  there 
And  silent  lisp  with  bended  head 
The  Golden  Rule  on  scrolls  of  gold 
As  gentle,  ancient  Buddhists  read 
These  precepts  sacred  unto  them, 
And  watched  the  world  grow  old,  so  old, 
Ere  yet  the  Babe  of  Bethelehem. 


LIGHT 

VIII 

How  leaps  the  altar's  forky  flame! 
How  dreamful,  dense,  the  sweet  incense, 
As  pale  priests  burn,  in  Buddha's  name, 
Red-written  sins  of  penitents  — 
Mute  penitents  with  bended  head 
And  unsaid  sins  writ  deep  in  red. 

IX 

Now  slow  a  priest  with  staff  and  scroll, 
Barefoot,  as  mendicant,  and  old  — 
You  sudden  start,  you  lift  your  head, 
You  hear  and  yet  you  do  not  hear, 
A  sound,  a  song,  so  sweet,  so  dear 
It  well  might  waken  yonder  dead. 
His  staff  has  touched  the  sacred  bowl 
Of  copper,  silver,  shot  with  gold 
And  wrought  so  magic-like  of  old 
That  all  sweet  sounds,  or  east  or  west, 
Sought  this  still  hollow  where  to  rest. 
Hear,  hear  the  voice  of  Buddha's  bell, 
Bonsho-no-oto!    All  is  well! 

x 

And  you,  you,  lean,  lean  low  to  hear: 
You  doubt  your  ears,  you  doubt  your  eyes, 
Your  hand  is  lifted  to  your  ear, 
92 


LIGHT 

You  fear,  how  cruelly  you  fear 
The  melody  may  die  —  it  dies  — 
Dies  as  the  swan  dies,  as  the  sun 
Dies,  bathed  in  dewy  benison. 

XI 

It  lives  again;  you  breathe  again! 

What  cadences  that  speak,  that  stir, 

Take  form  and  presence,  as  of  her 

Whom  first  you  loved,  ere  yet  of  men. 

It  utters  essence  as  a  sound; 

As  Santalum  sends  from  the  ground 

For  devotee  and  worshipper 

Where  saints  lie  buried,  balm  and  myrrh. 

XII 

But  now  so  low,  so  faint,  so  low 
You  lean  to  hear  yet  hardly  hear. 
Again  your  hand  is  to  your  ear, 
Your  lips  are  parted,  leaning  so, 
And  now  again  you  catch  your  breath! 
Such  breath  as  when  you  lie  becalmed 
At  sea,  and  sudden  start  to  feel 
A  cooling  wave  and  quickened  keel 
And  see  your  tall  sail  court  the  shore. 
You  hear,  you  more  than  hear,  you  feel, 
As  when  the  white  wave  shimmereth. 
93 


LIGHT 


Your  love  is  at  your  side  once  more, 
An  essence  of  some  song  embalmed, 
Long  hidden  in  the  house  of  death  — 
You  breathe  it,  as  your  Lady's  breath! 

XIII 

Now  low,  so  low,  so  soft,  so  still, 

As  when  a  single  leaf  is  stirred, 

As  when  some  doubtful  matin  bird 

Dreams  russet  morning  decks  his  hill  — 

Then  nearer,  clearer,  lilts  each  note 

And  longer,  stronger,  swells  each  wave  — 

Ten  thousand  dead  have  burst  the  grave, 

An  angel's  song  in  every  throat! 

The  forky  flame  turns  and  returns 

To  burn  and  burn  red  sins  away; 

Such  incense  on  the  altar  burns 

As  some  may  breathe  but  none  may  say, 

Though  cherished  to  their  dying  day. 

XIV 

And  now  the  sandaled  pilgrims  fall 
With  faces  to  the  jeweled  floor  — 
The  incense  darkens  as  a  pall, 
As  clouds  that  darken  more  and  more. 
You  dare  not  lift  your  bended  head  — 
The  silence  is  as  if  the  dead 
94 


LIGHT 

Alone  had  passed  the  temple  door. 
And  now  the  Bonsho  notes,  the  song! 
So  stronger  now,  so  strong,  so  strong! 

xv 

The  black  smokes  of  the  ashen  urn 

Where  brown  priests  burn  red  sins  away 

Begin  to  stir,  to  start,  to  turn, 

To  seek  the  huge,  bossed  copper  door  — 

As  evil  things  that  dare  not  stay. 

The  while  the  rich  notes  roll  and  roar 

To  drive  dread,  burned  sin  out  before 

Calm  Dia-busta,  the  adored, 

As  cherubim  with  flaming  sword. 

XVI 

And  far,  so  far,  such  rich  notes  roll 
That  barefoot  fishers  far  at  sea 
Fall  prone  and  pray  all  silently 
For  wife  and  babes  that  wait  the  strand, 
The  tugging  net  clutched  tight  in  hand, 
The  while  they  bow  a  space  to  pray; 
For  every  asking,  eager  soul 
Knows  well  the  time  and  patiently 
It  lists,  an  hundred  Ri  away. 


95 


LIGHT 

XVII 

The  thousand  pilgrims  girt  in  straw 
That  press  Fujame's  holy  peak, 
Prone,  fasting,  penitent  and  meek, 
Hear  notes  as  from  the  stars  and  pray, 
As  we  who  know  and  keep  the  Law  — 
As  we  who  walk  Jerusalem 
With  pilgrim  step  and  pallid  cheek. 
How  earnestly  they  silent  pray 
To  keep  their  Golden  Rule  alway, 
To  do  no  thing,  or  night  or  day, 
Though  tempted  by  a  diadem, 
They  would  not  others  do  to  them ! 

XVIII 

And  wee,  brown  wives,  on  high,  wild  steeps 
Of  terraced  rice  or  bamboo  patch 
Where  toil,  hard  toil  incessant,  keeps 
Sweet  virtue,  sweet  sleep,  and  a  thatch, 
They  hear  and  hold,  with  closer  fold, 
Their  bare,  brown  babes  against  the  cold. 
They  croon  and  croon,  with  soothing  care, 
To  babes  meshed  in  their  mighty  hair, 
And  loving,  crooning,  breathe  a  prayer. 


LIGHT 


XIX 

The  great  notes  pass,  pass  on  and  on, 
As  light  sweeps  up  the  doors  of  dawn, 
And  now  the  strong  notes  are  no  more, 
But  feebler  tones  wail  out  and  cry, 
As  sad  things  that  have  lost  their  way 
At  night  and  dare  not  bide  the  day 
But  turn  back  to  the  shrine  to  die, 
And  steal  in  softly  through  the  door 
And  gently  fade  along  the  floor. 

xx 

The  barefoot  priest  slow  fades  from  sight, 
Faint  and  more  faint  the  last  notes  fall; 
You  hear  them  now,  then  not  at  all, 
And  now  the  last  note  of  the  night 
Wails  out,  as  when  a  lover  cries 
At  night,  and  at  the  altar  dies. 

XXI 

How  sweet,  how  sad,  how  piteous  sweet 
This  last  note  at  the  bowed  monk's  feet 
That  dies  as  dies  some  saintly  light  — 
That  dies  so  like  the  sweet  swan  dies  — 
So  loving  sad,  so  tearful  sweet, 
This  last,  lost  note  —  Good  night,  good  night. 
Good  night  to  holy  Buddha's  bell  — 
97 


LIGHT 

Bonsho-no-oto!    All  is  well  — 
A  mist  is  rising  to  the  eyes! 

CANTO  II 


water  town  of  Tokio 
Is  as  a  church  with  priests  at  prayer, 
With  restful  silence  everywhere, 
Or  night  or  day,  or  high  or  low. 
You  sometimes  hear  a  turtle  dove, 
A  locust  trilling  from  his  tree 
In  chorus  with  his  mated  love, 
May  see  a  raven  in  the  air, 
Wide-winged  and  high,  but  even  he 
Is  as  a  shadow  in  the  stream, 
As  dreamful,  silent  as  a  dream. 


They  could  but  note  the  silent  maids 
That  carried,  with  a  mother's  care, 
The  silent  baby,  ofttimes  bare 
As  birthtime  through  their  Caran  shades. 
Ten  thousand  babies,  everywhere, 
But  not  one  wail,  or  day  or  night, 
To  put  the  locust's  love  to  flight, 
Or  mar  the  chorus  of  the  dove. 
98 


LIGHT 


And  why?    Why,  they  were  born  of  love: 
Born  soberly,  born  sanely,  clean, 
As  Indian  babes  of  old  were  born 
Ere  yet  the  white  man's  face  was  seen, 
Ere  yet  the  sensuous  white  man  came; 
Born  clean  as  love,  of  lovelight  born 
Some  long  lost  Rocky  Mountain  morn 
Where  snow-topt  turrets  first  took  flame 
And  flashed  God's  image  in  God's  name! 

in 

Tell  me,  my  flint-scarred  pioneer, 
My  skin-clad  Carson,  mountaineer, 
Who  met  red  Sioux,  met  dusk  Modoc, 
Red  hand  to  hand  in  battle  shock 
Where  men  but  met  to  dare  and  die, 
Did  ever  you  once  see  or  hear 
One  poor  brown  Indian  baby  cry? 

IV 

The  long,  hot  march  by  ashen  plain, 
The  burning  trail  by  lava  bed, 
Babes  lashed  to  back  in  corded  pain 
Until  the  swollen  bare  legs  bled, 
But  on  and  on  their  mothers  led, 
If  but  to  find  a  place  to  die. 
Yet  who,  of  all  men  that  pursued 
99 


LIGHT 


This  dying  race,  year  after  year, 
By  burning  plain  or  beetling  wood, 
Did  ever  see,  did  ever  hear, 
One  bleeding  Indian  baby  cry? 


The  starving  mother's  breasts  were  dry, 
There  scarce  was  time  to  stop  and  drink, 
The  swollen  legs  grew  black  as  ink  — 
There  was  not  even  time  to  die. 
And  yet,  through  all  this  fifty  year, 
What  hounding  man  did  ever  hear 
One  piteous  Indian  baby  cry? 

VI 

Nay,  they  were  born  as  men  were  born 
Far  back  in  Jacob's  Bible  morn; 
Were  born  of  love,  born  lovingly, 
Unlike  the  fretful  child  of  lust, 
When  love  gat  love  and  trust  gat  trust  — 
And  trusting,  dared  to  silent  die 
In  torture  and  disdain  a  tear, 
If  mother  willed,  nor  question  why. 
Yea,  I  have  seen  so  many  die, 
This  cruel,  hard,  half-hundred  year, 
And  I  have  cried,  to  see,  to  hear  — 
But  never  heard  one  baby  cry. 
100 


LIGHT 

VII 

Shot  down  in  Castle  Rocks  I  lay 
One  midnight,  lay  as  one  shot  dead, 
A  lad,  and  lone,  years,  years  of  yore. 
I  heard  deep  Sacramento  roar, 
Saw  Shasta  glitter  far  away  — 
I  never  saw  such  moon  before 
And  yet  I  could  not  turn  my  head, 
Nor  move  my  lips  to  cry  or  say. 
Red  arrows  in  both  form  and  face 
Held  form  and  face  tight  pinned  in  place 
Against  the  gnarled,  black  chaparral, 
As  one  fast  nailed  against  a  wall 
With  scant  half  room  to  wholly  fall  — 
The  hot,  thick,  gurgling,  gasping  breath, 
The  thirst,  the  thirsting  unto  death! 

VIII 

And  then  a  child  against  my  feet 
Crawled  feebly  and  crept  close  to  die; 
I  moaned,  "Oh  baby,  won't  you  cry? 
Twould  be  as  music  piteous  sweet 
To  hear  in  this  dread  place  of  death 
Just  one  lorn  cry,  just  one  sweet  breath 
Of  life,  here  'mid  the  moonlit  dead, 
The  mingled  dead,  white  men  and  red. 
101 


LIGHT 


IX 

"Oh  bleeding,  blood-red  baby,  cry 
Just  once  before  I,  choking,  die! 
And  maybe  some  white  man  will  hear 
In  yonder  fortressed  camp  anear 
And  bring  blest  drink  for  you  and  I  — 
Oh,  baby,  please,  please,  baby,  cry!" 

x 

A  crackling  in  the  chaparral 

And  then  a  lion  in  the  clear 

From  which  the  dying  babe  had  crept, 

Swift  as  a  yellow  sunbeam,  leapt 

And  stood  so  tall,  so  near,  so  near! 

So  cruel  near,  sc  sinuous,  tall  — 

Some  Landseer's  picture  on  a  wall. 

XI 

I  never  saw  such  length  of  limb, 
Such  arm  as  God  had  given  him! 
His  paws,  they  swallowed  up  the  earth, 
His  midnight  eyes  shot  arrows  out 
The  while  his  tail  whipped  swift  about 
His  tail  was  surely  twice  his  girth! 

XII 

His  nostrils  wide  with  smell  of  blood 
Reached  out  above  us  where  he  stood 
102 


LIGHT 


And  snuffed  the  dank,  death-laden  air       [ 

Till  half  his  yellow  teeth  were  bare. 

His  yellow  length  was  bare  and  lank  —     \*    c      OF 

I  never  saw  such  hollow  flank; 

'Twas  as  a  grave  is,  as  a  pall, 

A  flabby  black  flank  —  scarce  at  all! 


XIII 

He  sudden  quivered,  tail  to  jaws, 
Crouched  low,  unsheathed  his  shining  claws  — 
"Oh,  baby,  baby,  won't  you  cry, 
Just  once  before  we  two  must  die?" 
I  felt  him  spring,  clutch  up,  then  leap 
Swift  down  the  rock-built,  broken  steep; 
I  heard  a  crunch  of  bones,  but  I  — 
I  did  not  hear  that  baby  cry! 

CANTO  III 


T  WOULD  forget  —  help  me  forget, 

The  while  we  fondly  linger  yet 
The  flower-field  so  sweet,  so  sweet, 
With  Buddha  at  fair  Fuji's  feet. 
Fair  Fuji-san,  throned  Queen  of  air! 
Fair  woman  pure  as  maiden's  prayer; 
As  pure  as  prayer  to  the  throne 
Of  God,  as  lone  as  God,  as  lone 
103 


LIGHT 


As  Buddha  at  her  feet  in  prayer  — 
Fair  Fuji-san,  so  more  than  fair! 


Fair  Fuji-san,  Kamkura,  and 
Reposeful,  calm  Buddha  the  blest, 
With  folded  hands  that  rest  and  rest 
On  eld  Kamkura's  blood-soaked  sand. 
Here  russet  apples  hang  at  hand 
So  russet  rich  that  when  they  fall 
Tis  as  if  some  gold-bounden  ball 
Sank  in  the  loamy,  warm,  wet  sand 
Where  hana,  kusa,  carpet  earth 
That  never  knows  one  day  of  dearth. 

in 

Kamkura,  where  Samurai  bled, 
Where  Buddha  sits  to  rest  and  rest! 
Was  ever  spot  so  beauteous,  blest? 
Was  ever  red  rose  quite  so  red? 

IV 

Fair  Fuji  from  her  mountain  chine 
Above  her  curtained  courts  of  pine 
Looks  down  on  calm  Kamkura's  sea 
So  tranquil,  dreamful,  restfully 
You  fold  your  arms  across  your  breast 
104 


LIGHT 

And  rest  with  her,  with  Buddha  rest, 
While  silence  musks  the  warm  sea  air 
Just  silence,  silence  everywhere. 


Here  midst  this  rest,  this  pure  repose, 
This  benediction,  peace,  and  prayer, 
That  as  religion  was,  and  where 
A  breath  of  senko  blessed  the  air, 
The  erstwhile  children  of  the  snows 
Came  silently  and  sat  them  down 
Within  a  Kusa  coigne  that  lay 
Above  the  buried  Bushi  town, 
Above  the  dimpled,  beauteous  Bay 
Of  sun  and  shadow,  gold  and  brown, 
And  Care  blew  by  the  other  way  — 
A  breath,  a  butterfly,  a  fay. 

VI 

And  one  was  as  fair  Fuji,  fair, 
True,  trusting  as  some  maid  at  prayer, 
Aye,  one  as  Buddha  was,  but  one 
Was  turbulent  of  blood  and  was 
An  instant  of  the  earth  and  sun; 
As  when  the  ice-tied  torrent  thaws 
And  sudden  leaps  from  frost  and  snow 
Headlong  and  lawless,  far  below  — 
105 


LIGHT 


As  when  the  sap  flows  suddenly 
And  warms  the  wind-tost  mango  tree. 

VII 

He  caught  her  hand,  he  pressed  her  side, 

He  pressed  her  close  and  very  close, 

He  breathed  her  as  you  breathe  a  rose, 

Nor  was  in  any  wise  denied. 

Her  comely,  shapely  limbs  pushed  out 

As  elden  on  her  golden  shore; 

Her  long,  strong  arms  reached  round  about 

And  bent  along  the  flowered  floor, 

While  full  length  on  her  back  she  lay 

Like  some  wild,  beauteous  beast  at  play. 

VIII 

He  thrust  him  forward,  caught  her,  caught 

Her  form  as  if  she  were  of  naught. 

His  outstretched  face  was  as  a  flame, 

His  breath  was  as  a  furnace  is, 

He  kissed  her  mouth  with  such  mad  kiss 

Her  rich,  full  lips  shut  tight  with  shame. 

IX 

As  one  of  old  who  tilled  the  mould, 
Took  triple  strength  from  earth  and  thrust 
His  burly  foeman  to  the  dust, 
She  sprang  straight  up,  and  springing  threw 
1 06 


LIGHT 


Him  from  her  with  such  voltage  he 

Knew  not  how  he  might,  writhing,  rise, 

Or  dare  to  meet  again  those  eyes 

That  seemed  to  burn  him  through  and  through; 

Or  daring,  how  could  he  undo 

His  coward,  selfish  deed  of  shame 

Enforced  as  in  religion's  name? 

And  she  so  trustful,  so  alone! 

Twas  as  if  some  sweet,  sacred  nun 

Had  opened  wide  her  door  to  one 

Who  slew  her  on  her  altar  stone. 


She  passed  and  silent  passed  and  slow. 

What  strength,  what  length  of  limb,  what  eyes! 

She  left  him  lying  low,  so  low, 

So  crested  and  so  surely  slain 

He  deemed  he  never  more  might  rise, 

Or  rising,  see  her  face  again. 

And  yet,  her  look  was  not  of  hate, 

But  pity,  as  akin  to  pain; 

And  when  she  touched  the  temple  gate 

She  paused,  turned,  beckoned  he  should  go, 

Go  wash  his  hands  of  carnal  clay 

And  go  alone  his  selfish  way  — 

Forever,  ever  and  a  day! 


107 


LIGHT 

CANTO   IV 

i 

TLJTOW  cold  she  grew,  how  chilled,  how  changed, 
Since  that  loathed  scene  by  Nippon's  sea! 
No  longer  flexile,  trustful,  she 
Held  him  aloof,  hushed  and  estranged, 
A  fallen  star,  yet  still  her  star, 
And  she  his  heaven,  earth,  his  all, 
To  follow,  worship,  near  or  far, 
Let  good  befall  or  ill  befall. 
But  he  was  silent.     He  had  sold 
His  birthright,  sold  for  even  less 
Than  any  poor,  cheap  pottage  mess, 
His  right  to  speak  forth,  warm  and  bold, 
And  look  her  unshamed  in  the  face. 
Mute,  penitent,  he  kept  his  place, 
As  silent  as  that  Nippon  saint 
That  knew  not  prayer,  praise,  or  plaint. 

ii 

Saint  Silence  seems  some  maid  of  prayer, 
God's  arm  about  her  when  she  prays 
And  where  she  prays  and  everywhere, 
Or  storm-strewn  or  sun-down  days. 
What  ill  to  Silence  can  befall, 
Since  Silence  knows  no  ill  at  all? 
108 


L  I  G  H  T 

III 

Saint  Silence  seems  some  twilight  sky 
That  leans  as  with  her  weight  of  stars 
To  rest,  to  rest,  no  more  to  roam, 
But  rest  and  rest  eternally. 
She  loosens  and  lets  down  the  bars, 
She  brings  the  kind-eyed  cattle  home, 
She  breathes  the  fragrant  field  of  hay 
And  heaven  is  not  far  away. 

IV 

The  deeps  of  soul  are  still  the  deeps 
Where  stately  Silence  ever  keeps 
High  court  with  calm  Nirvana,  where 
No  shallows  break  the  noisy  shore 
Or  beat,  with  sad,  incessant  roar, 
The  fettered,  fevered  world  of  care 
As  noisome  vultures  fret  the  air. 


The  star-sown  seas  of  thought  are  still, 
As  when  God's  plowmen  plant  their  corn 
Along  the  mellow  grooves  at  morn 
In  patient  trust  to  wait  His  will. 
The  star-sown  seas  of  thought  are  wide, 
But  voiceless,  noiseless,  deep  as  night; 
Disturb  not  these,  the  silent  seas 
109 


LIGHT 

Are  sacred  unto  souls  allied, 

As  golden  poppies  unto  bees. 

Here,  from  the  first,  rude  giants  wrought, 

Here  delved,  here  scattered  stars  of  thought 

To  grow,  to  bloom  in  years  unborn, 

As  grows  the  gold-horned  yellow  corn. 

VI 

They  lay  low-bosomed  on  the  bay 
Of  Honolulu,  soft  the  breeze 
And  soft  the  dreamful  light  that  lay 
On  Honolulu's  Sabbath  seas  — 
The  ghost  of  sunshine  gone  away  — 
Red  roses  on  the  dust  of  day, 
Pale,  pink,  red  roses  in  the  west 
Where  lay  in  state  dead  Day  at  rest. 

VII 

Their  dusky  boatman  set  his  face 

From  out  the  argent,  opal  sea 

Tow'rd  where  his  once  proud,  warlike  race 

Lay  housed  in  everlasting  dust. 

He  sang  low- voiced,  sad,  silently, 

In  listless  chorus  with  the  tide, 

Because  his  race  was  not,  because 

His  sun-born  race  had  dared,  defied 

The  highest,  holiest  of  His  laws 

I  10 


LIGHT 


And  so  fell  stricken  and  so  died  — 
Died  stricken  of  dread  leprosy 
Begot  of  lust  —  prone  in  the  dust  — 
Degenerating  love  to  lust. 

VIII 

Sweet  sandal-wood  burned  bow  and  stern 
In  colored,  shapely  crates  of  clay; 
Sweet  sandal-wood  long  laid  away, 
Long  caverned  with  dead  battle  kings 
Whose  dim  ghosts  rise  betimes  and  burn 
The  torch  and  touch  sweet  taro  strings  — 
Such  giant,  stalwart,  stately  kings! 

IX 

Sweet  sandal-wood,  long  ages  torn 
From  cloud-capt  steeps  where  thunders  slept, 
Then  hidden  where  dead  giants  kept 
Their  sealed  Walhalla,  waiting  morn  — 
Deep-hidden,  till  such  sweet  perfume 
Betrayed  their  long-forgotten  tomb. 


The  sea's  perfume  and  incense  lay 
About,  above,  lay  everywhere; 
The  sea  swung  incense  through  the  air  — 
The  censer,  Honolulu's  Bay. 
in 


LIGHT 

And  then  the  song,  the  soft,  low  rune, 
As  sad,  as  if  dead  kings  kept  tune. 

XI 

The  moon  hung  twilight  from  each  horn, 

Soft,  silken  twilight,  soft  to  touch 

As  baby  lips  —  and  over  much 

Like  to  the  baby  breath  of  morn. 

Huge,  five-horned  stars  swung  left  and  right 

O'er  argent,  opal,  amber  night. 

XII 

What  changeful,  dreamful,  ardent  light, 
When  Mauna  Loa,  far  afield, 
Uprose  and  shook  his  yellow  shield 
Below  the  battlements  of  night; 
Below  the  Southern  Cross,  o'er  seas 
That  sang  such  silent  symphonies! 

XIII 

Far  lava  peaks  still  lit  the  night, 
Like  holy  candles  foot  and  head, 
That  dimly  burned  above  the  dead, 
Above  the  dead  and  buried  Light. 
There  rose  such  perfume  of  the  sea, 
Such  Sabbath  breath,  soft,  silently, 
As  when  some  burning  censer  swings, 
As  when  some  surpliced  choir  sings. 

I  12 


LIGHT 

XIV 

He  scarce  had  lived  save  in  such  fear, 
But  now  yon  mitered  tongues  of  flame 
That  tipped  the  star-lit  lava  peak 
Brought  back  some  fervor  to  his  cheek 
And  made  him  half  forget  his  shame. 
He  could  but  heed,  he  could  but  hear 
That  call  across  the  walls  of  night 
From  triple  mitered  tongues  of  Light, 
That  soulful,  silent,  perfumed  night. 
He  said  —  and  yet  he  said  no  word; 
No  word  he  said,  yet  all  she  heard, 
So  close  their  souls  lay,  in  such  Light, 
That  holy  Honolulu  night. 

xv 

"Lies  yonder  Nebo's  mount,  my  Soul?  — 
The  Promised  Land  beyond,  beyond 
The  grave  of  rest,  the  broken  bond, 
Where  manly  force  must  lose  control, 
Must  press  the  grapes  and  fill  the  bowl, 
Go  round  and  round,  rest,  rise  up,  eat, 
Tread  grapes,  then  wash  the  wearied  feet? 

XVI 

"  I  know  I  have  enough  of  bliss, 
I  know  full  well  I  should  not  dare 
"3 


LIGHT 


To  ask  a  deeper  joy  than  this, 
This  scene,  your  presence,  this  soft  air, 
This  incense,  this  deep  sense  of  rest 
Where  long-sought,  sweet  Arcadia  lies 
Against  these  gates  of  Paradise. 

XVII 

"And  yet,  hear  me,  I  dare  ask  more. 

Lone  Adam  had  all  Paradise 

And  still  how  poor  he  was,  how  poor, 

With  all  things  his  beneath  the  skies! 

Aye,  sweet  it  were  to  roam  or  rest, 

To  ever  rest  and  ever  roam 

As  you  might  reck  and  reckon  best; 

But  still  there  comes  a  sense  of  home, 

Of  hearthstone,  happy  babes  at  play, 

And  you  and  I  —  not  far  away. 

XVIII 

"Nay,  do  not  turn  aside  your  face  — 
'  Be  fruitful  ye  and  multiply' 
Meant  all;  it  meant  the  human  race, 
And  he  or  she  shall  surely  die 
Despised  and  pass  to  nothingness 
Who  does  not  love  the  little  dress, 
The  heaven  in  the  mother's  eyes, 
The  holy,  sacred,  sweet  surprise 
114 


LIGHT 

The  time  she  tells  how  truly  blest, 
With  face  laid  blushing  to  his  breast. 

XIX 

"  How  flower-like  the  little  frock  — 
The  daffodil  forerunning  spring  — 
The  doll-like  shoes,  socks,  everything, 
And  each  a  secret,  secret  stored! 
And  yet  each  day  the  little  hoard, 
As  careful  merchants  note  their  stock, 
Is  noted  with  such  happy  care 
As  only  angel  mothers  share. 

xx 

"At  last  to  hear  her  rock  and  rock  — 

Behold  her  bowed  Madonna  face! 

She  lifts  her  baby  from  its  place, 

Pulls  down  the  crumpled,  dampened  frock, 

And  never  Cleopatra  guessed 

The  queenliness,  the  joy,  the  pride, 

She  knows  with  baby  to  her  breast  — 

His  chub  fists  churning  either  sides! 

XXI 

"The  bravest  breast  faith  ever  bared 
For  brother,  country,  creed  or  friend, 
However  high  the  aim  or  end, 
Was  that  brave  breast  a  baby  shared 


LIGHT 


With  kicking,  fat  legs  half  unfrocked, 

The  while  sweet  mother  rocked  and  rocked." 

CANTO  V 


\  S  when  first  blossoms  feel  first  bees, 
^"*-     As  when  the  squirrel  hoists  full  sail 
And  leaps  his  world  of  maple  trees 
And  quirks  his  saucy,  tossy  tail; 
As  when  Vermont's  tall  sugar  trees 
First  feel  sweet  sap,  then  don  their  leaves 
In  haste  —  a  million  Mother  Eves; 
As  when  strange  winds  stir  strong-built  ships 
Long  ice-bound  fast  in  Arctic  seas, 
So  she,  the  strong,  full  woman  now, 
Felt  new  life  thrilling  breast  and  brow 
And  tingled  to  her  finger  tips. 
Her  limbs  pushed  out,  outreached  her  head 
As  if  to  say  —  she  nothing  said. 
But  something  of  the  tender  light 
That  lit  her  girl  face  that  first  night, 
The  time  she  pulling  poppies  sat 
The  sod  and  saw  the  golden  sheep 
Safe  housed  within  the  hollowed  deep, 
Was  hers;  and  how  she  blushed  thereat! 
Yet  blushing  so,  still  silent  sat. 
116 


LIGHT 


She  would  forget  his  weakness,  yet 

Try  as  she  would,  could  not  forget. 

He  knew  her  thought.     She  raised  her  head 

And  searched  his  soul,  and  searching  said: 

"He  who  would  save  the  world  must  stand 

Hard  by  the  world  with  steel-mailed  hand 

And  save  by  smiting  hip  and  thigh. 

The  world  needs  truth,  tall  truth  and  grand, 

And  keen  sword-cuts  that  thrust  to  kill. 

The  man  who  climbed  the  windy  hill 

To  talk,  is  talking,  climbing  still, 

And  could  not  help  or  hurt  a  fly. 

The  stoutest  swimmer  and  most  wise 

Swims  somewhat  with  the  sweeping  stream, 

Yet  leads,  leads  unseen  as  a  dream. 

The  strong  fool  breasts  the  flood  and  dies, 

The  weak  fool  turns  his  back  and  flies." 

in 

He  did  not  answer,  could  not  dare 
Lift  his  shamed  eyes  to  her  fair  face, 
But  looked  right,  left,  looked  anywhere, 
And  mused,  mused  mutely  out  of  place: 
"If  yonder  creedists  may  not  teach, 
For  all  their  books,  and  bravely  preach 
117 


LIGHT 

That  here,  right  here,  the  womb  of  night 
Gave  us  God's  first-born,  holy  Light, 
Why,  pity,  nor  yet  blame  them  quite; 
Because  they  know  not,  cannot  read, 
Save  as  commanded  by  some  creed. 
What  eons  they  may  have  to  wait 
Within  their  wall,  without  the  gate, 
Nor  once  dare  lift  their  eyes  to  look 
Beyond  their  blinding  creed  and  book, 
We  know  not,  but  we  surely  know 
Yon  lava-lifted,  star-tipt  height 
Is  bannered  still  by  that  first  Light. 
We  know  this  phosphorescent  glow, 
At  every  dip  of  dripping  oar, 
Is  but  lost  bits  of  Light  below, 
Where  moves  God's  spirit  as  of  yore. 
Aye,  here,  right  here,  from  out  the  night, 
God  spake  and  said:  "Let  there  be  light!" 

IV 

"And  dare  ask  doubting,  creed-made  men 
Why  we  so  surely  know  and  how? 
Why  here  '  the  waters/  now  as  then? 
Why  here  'the  waters,'  then  as  now? 
We  know  because  we  read,  yet  read 
So  little  that  we  much  must  heed. 
We  read:  'God's  spirit  moved  upon 
118 


LIGHT 


The  waters'  ere  that  burst  of  dawn. 
What  waters?    Why,  'The  Waters,'  these, 
These  soundless,  silent,  sundown  seas. 

v 

"The  morning  of  the  world  was  here, 
Twas  here  'He  made  dry  land  appear,' 
Here  '  Darkness  lay  upon  the  deep.' 
What  deep?     This  deep,  the  deepest  deep 
That  ever  rolled  beneath  the  sun 
When  night  and  day  were  then  as  one 
And  dreamless  day  lay  fast  asleep, 
Rocked  in  this  cradle  of  the  deep." 

VI 

She  would  not,  could  not  be  denied 
Her  thought,  her  theme  but  turned  once  more, 
As  turns  the  all-devouring  tide 
Against  a  stubborn  unclean  shore, 
With  lifted  face  and  soul  aflame, 
And  spake  as  speaking  in  God's  name  — 
With  face  raised  to  the  living  God: 
"  Hear  me!     How  pitiful  the  plea 
Of  men  who  plead  their  temperance, 
Of  men  who  know  not  one  first  sense 
Of  self-control,  yet,  fire-shod, 
Storm  forth  and  rage  intemperately 
119 


LIGHT 

At  sins  that  are  but  as  a  breath, 
Compared  with  their  low  lives  of  death! 

VII 

"And  oh,  for  prophet's  tongue  or  pen 
To  scourge,  not  only,  and  accuse 
The  childless  mother,  but  such  men 
As  know  their  loves  but  to  abuse! 
Give  me  the  brave,  child-loving  Jew, 
The  full-sexed  Jew  of  either  sex, 
Who  loves,  brings  forth  and  nothing  recks 
Of  care  or  cost,  as  Christians  do  — 
Dulled  souls  who  will  not  hear  or  see 
How  Christ  once  raised  his  lowly  head 
And,  all  rebuking,  gently  said, 
The  while  he  took  them  tenderly, 
'  Let  little  ones  come  unto  me.' 

VIII 

"The  true  Jew  lover  keeps  the  Way. 
For  clean,  serene,  and  contrite  heart 
The  bride  and  bridegroom  kneel  apart 
Before  the  bridal  bed  and  pray. 

IX 

"Behold  how  great  the  bride's  estate! 
Behold  how  holy,  pure  the  thought 
That  high  Jehovah  welcomes  her 
120 


LIGHT 


In  partnership,  to  coin,  create 

The  fairest  form  He  yet  has  wrought 

Since  Adam's  clay  knew  breath  and  stir: 

To  glory  in  her  daughters,  sons; 

To  be  God's  tabernacle,  tent, 

The  keeper  of  the  covenant, 

The  mother  of  His  little  ones! 


"Go  forth  among  this  homeless  race, 
This  landless  race  that  knows  no  place 
Or  name  or  nation  quite  its  own, 
And  see  their  happy  babes  at  play, 
Or  palace,  Ghetto,  rich  or  poor, 
As  thick  as  birds  about  the  door 
At  morn,  some  sunny  Vermont  May, 
Then  think  of  Christ  and  these  alone. 
Yet  ye  deride,  ye  jeer,  ye  jibe, 
To  see  their  plenteous  babes;  ye  say 
'Behold  the  Jew  and  all  his  tribe!' 

XI 

"Yet  Solomon  upon  his  throne 

Was  not  more  kingly  crowned  than  they 

These  Jews,  these  jeered  Jews  of  to-day  - 

More  surely  born  to  lord,  to  lead, 

To  sow  the  land  with  Abram's  seed; 

121 


LIGHT 

Because  their  babes  are  healthful  born 
And  welcomed  as  the  welcome  morn. 

XII 

"Hear  me  this  prophecy  and  heed! 

Except  we  cleanse  us,  kirk  and  creed, 

Except  we  wash  us,  word  and  deed, 

The  Jew  shall  rule  us,  reign  the  Jew. 

And  just  because  the  Jew  is  true, 

Is  true  to  nature,  true  to  truth, 

Is  clean,  is  chaste,  as  trustful  Ruth 

Who  stood  amid  the  alien  corn 

In  tears  that  far,  dim,  doubtful  morn  — 

Who  bore  us  David,  Solomon  — 

The  Babe,  that  far,  first  Christmas  dawn. 

XIII 

"  You  shrink,  are  angered  at  my  speech? 
You  dare  avert  your  doubtful  face 
Because  I  name  this  chaste,  strange  race? 
So  be  it  then;  there  lies  the  beach, 
And  up  the  beach  the  ways  divide. 
I  would  not  leave  the  truth  untold 
To  win  the  whole  world  to  my  side, 
Nor  would  I  spare  your  selfish  pride, 
Your  carnal  coarseness,  lustful  lie, 
For  that  would  be  to  let  you  die. 
122 


LIGHT 

Come!  yonder  lifts  the  clear,  white  Light 
For  seamen,  souls  sea-tost  at  night. 

XIV 

"  I  see  the  spiked  Agave's  plume, 

The  pepsin's  plum,  acacia's  bloom 

Far  up  beyond  tall  cocoa  trees, 

Tall  tamarind  and  mango  brown, 

That  gird  the  pretty,  peaceful  town. 

That  lane  leads  up,  the  church  looks  down  - 

There  lie  the  ways,  now  which  of  these? 

Bear  with  me,  I  must  dare  be  true. 

The  nation,  aye,  the  Christian  race, 

Now  fronts  its  stern  Sphynx,  face  to  face, 

And  I  must  say,  say  here  to  you, 

What'e'er  the  cost  of  love,  of  fame, 

The  Christian  is  a  thing  of  shame  — 

Must  say  because  you  prove  it  true, 

The  better  Christian  is  the  Jew. 

xv 

"  I  know  you  scorn  the  narrow  deeds 
Of  men  who  make  their  god  of  creeds  — 
Yon  men  as  narrow  as  the  miles 
That  bank  their  rare,  sweet  flower-fed  isles, 
But  come,  my  Lost  Star,  come  with  me 
To  yon  fond  church,  high-built  and  fair, 
123 


LIGHT 

For  God  is  there,  as  everywhere, 
Or  Arctic  snow  or  argent  sea." 

XVI 

He  looked  far  up  the  mango  lane 
Below  the  wide-boughed  banyan  tree; 
He  looked  to  her,  then  looked  again, 
As  one  who  tries  yet  could  not  see 
But  one  steep,  narrow,  upward  way: 
"  You  said  two  ways,  here  seems  but  one, 
Or  set  of  moon  or  rise  of  sun, 
But  one  way  to  the  perfect  day, 
And  I  will  go.    And  you  must  stay?" 
She  looked  far  up  the  steep  of  stone 
And  said:  "Aye,  go,  but  not  alone." 

XVII 

The  boat's  prow  pushed  the  cocoa  shore, 
The  man  spake  not,  but,  leaning  o'er, 
Strong-armed,  he  drew  her  to  his  side 
And  was  not  anywise  denied. 
He  pointed  to  the  failing  fire, 
That  still  tipt  lava  peak  and  spire, 
While  stars  pinned  round  the  robe  of  night; 
Twas  here  God  said,  "Let  there  be  Light!" 


124 


LIGHT 
XVJII 

A  little  church,  a  lava  wall, 

A  soft  light  looking  gently  down, 

The  Light  of  Christ,  the  second  light, 

Where  two  as  one  passed  up  the  town. 

She  gave  her  hand,  she  gave  her  all, 

And  said,  as  such  brave  women  might, 

With  ample  right,  in  hallowed  cause: 

"As  it  in  the  beginning  was, 

So  let  the  man-child  be  full  born 

Of  Love,  of  Light,  the  Light  of  Morn ! ' 


125 


BOOK     FOURTH 


CANTO   I 

i 

AND  which  of  all  Hawaii's  isles 
-***     Of  sandal  wood  and  singing  wilds 
Received  and  housed  this  maiden  rare- 
This  bravest,  best,  since  Eve's  despair? 
It  matters  not;  enough  to  know 
Night-blooming  trumpets  ever  blow 
Love's  tuneful  banner  to  the  breeze 
In  chorus  with  the  ardent  seas; 
That  Juno  walks  her  mountain  wall 
In  peacock  plumes  the  whole  year  through. 
You  hear  her  gaudy  lover  call 
From  dawn  till  dusk,  then  see  them  fall 
From  out  the  clouds  far,  far  below, 
And  droop  and  drift  slow  to  and  fro  — 
Dusk  rainbows  blending  with  the  dew. 


129 


LIGHT 

II 

And  had  he  won  her?     He  had  wed, 
But  now  it  was  that  he  most  woo, 
Must  keep  alone  his  widowed  bed 
Or  sit  and  woo  the  whole  night  through. 
He  plead.     He  could  not  touch  her  hand; 
Her  eyes  held  anger  and  command 
And  memories  of  a  trustful  time 
He  would  have  made  her  muck  and  slime. 

in 

He  plead  his  perfect  life,  still  plead; 
But  spurning  him  she  mocking  said : 
"You  would  have  trailed  me  in  the  dust 
In  very  drunkenness  of  lust  — 
And  now  you  dare  to  meekly  plead 
Your  love  of  Light,  your  studious  youth, 
Your  strenuous  toil,  your  quest  of  truth, 
Your  perfect  life!     Indeed!  Indeed! 

IV 

"  Behold  the  pale,  wan,  outworn  wife 
Of  him  who  pleads  his  perfect  life! 
Her  step  is  slow,  she  waits  for  death; 
Hear,  hear  her  wan  babe's  hollow  cry! 
He  scarce  can  cry  above  a  breath. 
Poor  babe!  begotten  but  to  die, 
130 


LIGHT 


Or,  harder  fate,  live  feebly  on, 
The  shame  of  mother,  curse  of  state 
Half-witted,  worthless,  jest  of  fate. 


"Behold  God's  image,  fashioned  tall 
As  heaven,  stooping  down  to  crawl 
Upon  his  belly  as  a  snake, 
Ere  yet  his  sense  is  well  awake, 
Ere  yet  his  force  has  come,  ere  yet 
The  child-wife  knows  but  to  regret. 
And  lo!  the  greatest  is  the  least; 
For  man  lies  lower  than  the  beast. 

VI 

"Such  pity  that  sweet  love  should  lie 

Prone,  strangled  in  its  bed  of  shame, 

And  no  man  dare  to  publish  why! 

Such  pity  that  in  slain  Love's  name 

The  weak  bring  forth  the  weaker,  bring 

The  leper,  idiot,  anything 

That  lawless  passion  can  beget! 

Sweet  pity,  pity  for  them  all  — 

The  child  that  cries,  child-wife  that  dies, 

The  weakling  that  may  linger  yet 

A  feeble  day  to  feebly  fall  - 

As  food  for  sword  or  cannon  ball, 


LIGHT 

For  prison  wall  or  charity 

Or  fruit  of  gruesome  gallows  tree! 

VII 

"  But  pity  most  poor  man,  blind  man, 
Whose  passions  stoop  him  to  a  span. 
Why,  man,  each  well-born  man  was  born 
To  dwell  in  everlasting  morn, 
To  top  the  mountain  as  a  tower, 
A  thousand  years  of  pride  and  power; 
To  face  the  four  winds  with  the  face 
Of  youth  until  full  length  he  lies  — 
Still  God-like,  even  as  he  dies. 

VIII 

"Could  I  but  teach  lorn  man  to  live, 
But  teach  low  man  to  truly  love, 
Could  I  but  teach  blind  man  to  see, 
How  gladly  he  would  turn  to  me 
And  give  great  thanks,  and  ever  give 
Glad  heed,  as  to  some  soft-voiced  dove. 

IX 

"The  burning  cities  of  the  plain, 
The  high-built  harlot,  Babylon, 
The  bannered  mur'ls  of  Rome  undone, 
That  rose  again  and  fell  again 
To  ashes  and  to  heaps  of  dust, 
132 


LIGHT 

All  died  because  man  lived  in  vain; 
Because  man  sold  his  soul  to  lust. 

x 

"And  count  what  crimes  have  come  of  it! 

I  say  all  sins,  or  said  or  writ, 

Lie  gathered  here  in  this  dark  pit 

Of  man's  licentious,  mad  desire, 

Where  woman's  form  is  ruthless  thrown, 

As  on  some  sacrificial  stone, 

And  burned  as  in  a  living  fire, 

To  leave  but  ashes,  rue,  and  ire. 

XI 

"Aye,  even  crimes  as  yet  unnamed 
Are  born  of  man's  degrading  lust. 
The  wildest  beast  man  ever  tamed, 
Or  ever  yet  has  come  to  know  — 
The  vilest  beast  would  feel  disgust 
Could  it  but  know  how  low,  how  low 
God's  image  sinks  in  muck  and  slime, 
In  crimes  so  deeper  than  all  crime, 
In  slime  that  hath  not  yet  a  name, 
And  yet  man  knows  no  whit  of  shame! 

XII 

"Poor,  weak,  mad  man,  so  halt,  so  blind! 
Poor,  weak,  mad  man  that  must  carouse 
133 


LIGHT 

And  prostitute  what  he  should  house 
And  husband  for  his  coming  kind! 
Behold  the  dumb  beasts  at  glad  morn, 
Clean  beasts  that  hold  them  well  in  hand! 
How  nobler  thus  to  lord  the  land, 
How  nobler  thus  to  love  your  race, 
To  house  its  health  and  strength  and  grace, 
Than  rob  the  races  yet  unborn 
And  build  new  Babylons  to  scorn! 

XIII 

"  I  say  that  each  man  has  a  right, 
The  right  the  beast  has  to  be  born 
Full-flowered,  beauteous,  free  and  fair 
As  wide-winged  bird  that  rides  the  air; 
Not  as  a  babe  that  cries  all  night, 
Cries,  cries  in  darkness  for  such  Light 
As  man  should  give  it  at  its  birth. 
I  say  that  poor  babe  has  a  right, 
The  right,  at  least,  of  each  wild  beast  — 
Aye,  red  babe,  black,  white,  west  or  east, 
To  rise  at  birth  and  lord  the  earth, 
Strong-limbed,  long-limbed,  robust  and  free 
As  supple  beast  or  towering  tree. 


134 


LIGHT 

XIV 

"God's  pity  for  the  breasts  that  bear 

A  little  babe,  then  banish  it 

To  stranger  hands,  to  alien  care, 

To  live  or  die  as  chance  sees  fit. 

Poor,  helpless  hands,  reached  anywhere, 

As  God  gave  them  to  reach  and  reach, 

With  only  helplessness  in  each! 

Poor  little  hands,  pushed  here,  pushed  there, 

And  all  night  long  for  mother's  breast: 

Poor,  restless  hands  that  will  not  rest 

And  gather  strength  to  reach  out  strong 

To  mother  in  the  rosy  morn! 

Nay,  nay,  they  gather  scorn  for  scorn 

And  hate  for  hate  the  lorn  night  long  — 

Poor,  dying  babe!  to  reach  about 

In  blackness,  as  a  thing  cast  out! 

xv 

"God's  pity  for  the  thing  of  lust 
Who  bears  a  frail  babe  to  be  thrust 
Forth  from  her  arms  to  alien  thrall, 
As  shutting  out  the  light  of  day, 
As  shutting  off  God's  very  breath! 
But  thrice  God's  pity,  let  us  pray, 
For  her  who  bears  no  babe  at  all, 
135 


LIGHT 

But,  grinning,  leads  the  dance  of  death. 
That  sexless,  steel-braced  breast  of  bone 
Is  like  to  some  assassin  cell, 
A  whited  sepulcher  of  stone, 
A  graveyard  at  the  gates  of  hell, 
A  mart  where  motherhood  is  sold, 
A  house  of  murders  manifold!" 

CANTO   II 

i 

TTE  heard;  he  could  but  bow  his  head 

•*••••     In  silence,  penitence,  and  shame, 

Confess  the  truth  of  all  she  said 

Of  crimes  committed  in  Love's  name, 

Nor  beg  the  sacred  seal  of  red 

To  marriage  bond  and  marriage  bed. 


And  that  was  all,  aye,  that  was  all 
For  days,  for  days  that  seemed  as  years. 
He  still  must  woo,  put  by  her  fears, 
Make  her  his  friend,  let  what  befall; 
Bide  her  sweet  will  and,  loving,  bide 
Meek  dalliance  with  his  maiden  bride. 


LIGHT 

III 

One  night  in  May,  such  soulful  night 
Of  cherry  blossoms,  birds,  such  birds 
As  burst  with  song,  that  sing  outright 
Because  so  glad  they  cannot  keep 
Their  song,  but  sing  out  in  their  sleep! 
Such  noisy  night,  a  cricket's  night, 
A  night  of  Katydids,  of  dogs 
That  bayed  and  bayed  the  vast,  full  moon 
In  chorus  with  glad,  tuneful  frogs  — 
With  May's  head  in  the  lap  of  June. 
How  hot,  how  sultry  hot  the  room! 
Their  garden  tree  in  perfect  bloom 
Gave  out  fair  Nippon's  full  perfume  — 
The  night  grew  warm  and  very  warm, 
And  warm  her  warm,  full-bosomed  form! 

IV 

How  vital,  virile,  strong  with  life, 
The  world  without,  the  maiden  wife! 
How  wondrous  fair  the  world,  how  fair 
The  maid  meshed  in  her  mighty  hair! 
The  man  uprose,  caught  close  a  skin, 
A  lion's  skin,  threw  this  about 
His  great,  Herculean,  pent-up  form, 
Thrust  feet  into  his  slippered  shoes, 
'37 


LIGHT 

Then,  with  a  lion's  force  and  frown 
He  strode  the  wide  room  up  and  down, 
The  skin's  claws  flapping  at  his  thews. 
He  turned,  he  caught  her  suddenly 
And  instant  wrapped  her  close  within; 
Then  down  the  stairs  and  back  and  out 
Beneath  the  blossomed  Nippon  tree  — 
Against  the  tree  he  pressed  her  form, 
He  was  so  warm,  so  very  warm  — 
He  held  her  close  as  close  could  be 
Against  the  blossomed  cherry  tree. 

v 

He  held  with  all  his  might  and  main  — 
Held  her  so  hard  he  shook  the  tree, 
Because  he  trembled  mightily 
And  shook  in  his  hard,  happy  pain  — 
Because  he  quivered  as  a  pine 
When  tropic  storm  sweeps  up  the  line, 
As  when  some  swift  horse,  harnessed  low, 
Frets  hard  and  bites  the  bit  to  go. 
She  laughed  such  low,  sweet  laugh,  and  said, 
The  while  she  raised  her  pretty  head, 
"Please,  please,  be  gentle  good  to  me, 
And  please  don't  hurt  the  cherry  tree." 


LIGHT 

VI 

The  warm  land  lay  as  in  a  swoon, 
Full  length,  the  happy  lap  of  June  — 
A  fair  bride  fainting  with  delight 
And  fond  forgetfulness  with  night. 
How  warm  the  world  was  and  how  wise 
The  world  is  in  its  love  of  life, 
Its  hate  of  harshness,  hate  of  strife, 
Its  love  of  Eden,  peace  that  lies 
In  love-set,  leaf-sown  Paradise! 

VII 

How  generous,  how  good  is  night 
To  give  its  length  to  man's  delight  — 
To  give  its  strength  from  dusk  till  morn 
To  push  the  planted  yellow  corn! 
How  warm  this  garden  was,  how  warm 
With  life,  with  love  in  any  form ! 
Two  lowly  crickets,  clad  in  black, 
Came  shyly  forth,  shrank  sudden  back  — 
Then  chirped  in  chorus,  side  by  side; 
And  oh,  their  narrow  world  was  wide 
As  oceans,  light  their  hearts  as  air, 
And  oh,  their  little  world  was  fair, 
And  oh,  their  little  world  was  warm 
Because  each  had  a  lover  there, 
Because  they  loved  and  didn't  care. 
139 


LIGHT 

VIII 

How  languid  all  things  with  delight, 
With  sensuous  longings,  sweet  desire 
That  burned  as  with  immortal  fire, 
Immortal  love  that  burns  to  live 
And,  lives  to  burn,  to  take,  to  give, 
Create,  bring  forth,  and  loving  share 
With  God  the  fruitage,  flesh  or  flower  - 
Just  loving,  loving,  bud  or  bower, 
Or  bee  or  birdling,  small  or  great, 
Just  loving,  loving  to  create, 
With  just  one  caution,  just  one  care  — 
That  all  creation  shall  be  fair. 

IX 

The  very  garden  wall  was  warm 
With  gorgeous  sunshine  gone  away; 
Each  vine,  with  eager,  reaching  arm, 
Clung  amorous,  tiptoed  to  kiss, 
With  eager  lips,  the  ardent  clay 
That  held  her  to  its  breast  of  bliss. 

x 

Blown  cherry  blossoms  basking  lay, 
A  perfect  pathway  of  perfume; 
The  tiger  lily  scarce  had  room 
For  roses  bending  in  a  storm 
140 


LIGHT 

Of  laden  sweetness  more  than  sweet. 
The  moon  leaned  o'er  the  garden  wall, 
Then,  smiling,  tiptoed  up  her  way, 
The  while  she  let  one  full  beam  fall, 
Love-laden  in  the  sensuous  heat, 
So  sweet,  so  warm,  so  still  withal, 
Love  heard  pink  cherry  blossoms  fall. 

XI 

A  Katydid  laid  his  green  thigh 

Against  another  leaf-green  form 

And  so  began  to  sing  and  sigh, 

As  if  it  were  his  time  to  die 

From  stress  and  strain  of  passion's  storm 

He,  too,  was  warm  and  very  warm. 

XII 

A  tasseled  hammock,  silken  red, 
Swung,  hung  hard  by,  and  foot  and  head, 
A  blossom-laden  cherry  tree. 
This  famed  tree  of  the  Japanese, 
Whatever  other  trees  may  be, 
Is  held  most  sacred  of  all  trees: 
Not  quite  because  of  its  perfume, 
Not  all  because  of  rich  pink  bloom, 
But  much  because  its  blossomed  boughs 
Not  only  list  to  lover's  vows, 
141 


LIGHT 


But  true  to  lovers,  ever  true, 

Refuse  to  let  one  moonbeam  through. 

XIII 

Here,  close  beneath  this  Nippon  tree, 

The  sweetest  tree  this  side  Cathay, 

The  lover's  tree  of  mystery, 

Where  not  a  thread  of  moonlight  lay, 

While  waves  of  moonlight  laughed  and  played 

At  hide  and  seek  the  other  way, 

He  threw  her,  full  length,  from  his  arm; 

Full  length,  then  raised  her  drooping  head, 

Threw  back  the  skin  and,  blushing  red, 

He  sought  to  say  —  He  nothing  said! 

He  nothing  did  but  blush  and  blush 

And  feel  his  hot  blood  rush  and  rush  — 

The  very  hammock's  fringe  was  warm 

The  while  he  leaned  low  from  his  place 

And  felt  her  warm  breath  in  his  face. 

XIV 

Then,  all  abashed,  he  trembled  so 
He  clutched  the  hammock  hard  and  fast, 
He  held  so  hard  it  came,  at  last, 
To  swing,  to  swing  fast  to  and  fro. 
Such  awkwardness!     He  clutched,  let  go, 
Then  clutched  so  hard  he  shook  each  tree 
142 


LIGHT 


Till  perfumed  silence  came  to  see  — 
Till  fragrance  fell  upon  her  hair, 
Such  hair,  a  storm  of  pink  and  snow. 
How  fair,  how  fair,  how  sensuous  fair, 
Half  hidden  in  a  pink  snow-storm; 
And  yet  how  warm,  how  more  than  warm! 

xv 

How  shamed  he  was!     His  great  heart  beat 
As  beats  some  signal  for  retreat. 
This  stupid,  bravest  of  brave  men, 
Confused,  dismayed,  hung  down  his  head, 
Then  turned  and  helplessly  had  fled, 
Had  she  not  reached  a  timid  hand 
And,  half  as  pleading,  half  command 
And  half-way  laughing,  shyly  said, 
From  out  her  snood  of  snow  and  rain, 
"Please  shake  the  Nippon  trees  again!" 

XVI 

He  shook  the  trees;  a  fragrant  shower 
On  laughing  face  and  loosened  hair  — 
A  flash  of  perfume  and  of  flower  — 
Oh,  she  was  fair  and  very  fair! 
Then  with  a  sudden  strength  he  plucked 
His  red-ripe  cherry  from  the  tree, 
Wound  'round  the  skin  and  loosely  tucked 


LIGHT 

The  folds  about  her  modestly, 

Then  on  and  up  with  giant  stride 

He  bore  his  blushing  maiden  bride, 

So  cherry  ripe,  so  cherry  red, 

And  laid  her  in  her  bridal  bed  — 

Laid  perfumed  bride,  laid  flesh  and  flower, 

Half  drowning  from  the  fragrant  shower. 

What  snows  strewn  in  her  ample  hair, 

What  low,  light  laughter  everywhere, 

Or  cherry  tree,  or  step  or  stair! 

Just  low,  soft  laughter,  cherry  bloom, 

Just  love  and  love's  unnamed  perfume. 

XVII 

He  tossed  the  lion's  skin  aside, 
With  folded  arms  leaned  o'er  his  bride, 
Turned  low  the  light,  then  stood  full  length, 
Then  strode  in  all  his  supple  strength 
The  room  a  time,  tossed  back  his  hair, 
Then  to  his  bride,  swift  bent  to  her, 
And  kneeled,  as  lowliest  worshiper. 

XVIII 

And  then  he  threw  him  by  her  side, 
His  long,  strong  limbs  thrown  out  full  length, 
His  two  fists  full  of  housed-up  strength. 
What  pride,  what  manly,  kingly  pride 
144 


LIGHT 

That  he  had  conquered,  bravely  slain 
His  baser  self,  was  self  again! 

XIX 

He  held  a  hand,  exceeding  small, 

He  breathed  her  perfume,  threw  her  hair 

Across  her  breast  with  such  sweet  care 

He  scarce  did  touch  her  form  at  all. 

Again  he  rose,  strode  to  and  fro, 

Came  back  and  turned  the  light  quite  low. 

xx 

He  bowed  his  face  close  to  her  feet; 
Now  he  would  rise,  then  would  not  rise; 
He  bent,  blushed  to  his  very  eyes, 
Then  sudden  pushed  aside  the  sheet 
And  kissed  her  pink  and  pearly  toes. 
Their  perfume  was  the  perfect  rose 
When  perfect  summer,  passion,  heat, 
Points  both  hands  of  the  clock  straight  up, 
As  when  we  lift  and  drain  the  cup, 
As  when  we  lift  two  hands  and  pray 
When  we  have  lived  our  bravest  day, 
The  horologe  of  life  may  stop 
With  both  hands  pointing  to  the  top. 


LIGHT 
XXI 

Then  suddenly,  in  strength  and  pride, 

Full  length  he  threw  him  at  her  side 

And  caught  again  her  timid  hand, 

A  bird  that  had  escaped  his  snare. 

He  caught  it  hard,  he  held  it  there, 

He  begged  her  pardon,  begged  and  prayed 

She  would  forgive  him,  then  he  laid 

His  face  to  her  face  and  the  land 

Was  like  a  fairy  land.    They  lay 

As  children  well  outworn  at  play. 

XXII 

As  children  bounding  from  their  bed, 
So  rested,  radiant,  satisfied 
With  self  and  selfishness  denied, 
Life  seemed  some  merry  roundelay. 
They  laughed  with  early  morn,  they  led, 
So  full  of  soul,  of  strength  were  they, 
The  laughing  dance  of  love  all  day. 

XXIII 

All  day?    A  month  of  days,  and  each 
A  song,  a  sermon,  but  to  teach, 
A  holy  book  to  teach  the  truth 
Of  endless,  laughing,  joyous  youth. 
He  stood  so  tall,  he  stood  so  strong  — 
146 


LIGHT 

As  one  who  holds  the  keys  yet  keeps 
His  treasure  housed  in  shining  heaps, 
Until  all  life  was  as  a  song. 

XXIV 

At  last,  one  warmest  morning,  she 
Held  close  his  hand,  held  hard  the  door, 
Would  scarce  let  go,  said  o'er  and  o'er, 
"Good-by!    Come  early  back  to  me!" 
And  then,  close  up  beside,  as  one 
Might  eager  seek  some  stout  oak  tree 
When  storm  is  sudden  threatened,  she 
Put  up  her  pretty,  pouting  mouth, 
Half  closed  her  laughing,  saucy  eyes  — 
Such  lips,  such  roses  from  the  south, 
The  warm,  south  side  of  Paradise!  — 

XXV 

"Good-by!    Come  early  back  to  me!" 
Why,  he  heard  nothing  else  all  day, 
Saw  nothing  else,  knew  naught  but  this, 
Their  fond,  fond,  first  full-flowered  kiss, 
Wherein  she  led  the  rosy  way, 
As  is  her  right,  as  it  should  be. 
He  looked  his  watch  hard  in  its  face 
A  hundred  times,  he  blushed,  he  smiled, 
Did  leave  his  friends  and  lightly  pace 
147 


LIGHT 

The  street,  half  laughing,  as  a  child. 
A  million  kisses!     He'd  had  one  — 
Scant  one,  his  joy  had  just  begun! 

XXVI 

Come  early?     He  was  at  the  gate 
And  through  the  door  ere  yet  the  day 
Had  kneeled  down  in  the  west  to  pray 
Its  vesper  prayer,  all  brimming  o'er 
And  blushing  that  he  could  not  wait 
To  kiss  her  just  once  more,  once  more; 
Take  breath  then  kiss  her  o'er  and  o'er. 

XXVII 

By  some  sweet  chance  he  found  her  there, 
Close  fenced  against  the  winding  stair, 
With  no  escape,  behind,  before. 
She  put  her  lips  up  as  to  plead 
She  might  be  spared  a  little  space; 
But  there  was  mischief  in  her  face, 
A  world  of  frolic  and  of  fun, 
And  he  could  run  as  he  could  read, 
Aye,  he  could  read  as  he  could  run. 
And  then  she  pushed  her  full  lips  out: 
"You  are  so  strong,  you  hold  so  fast! 
You  know  I  tried  to  guard  the  door." 
And  then  she  frowned,  began  to  pout 

148 


LIGHT 

And  sighed,  "Dear,  dear,  'tis  not  well  done! 
And  then  he  caught  her  close,  and  then 
He  kissed  her,  once,  twice,  thrice  again. 

XXVIII 

Then  days  and  many  days  of  this  — 
Ah!  man,  make  merry  and  carouse 
Upon  your  way,  within  your  house, 
Hold  right  there  in  your  manly  hand, 
Your  happy  maid  who  waits  your  kiss; 
Carouse  on  kisses  and  carouse 
In  soul,  the  livelong,  thronging  day 
When  duty  tears  you  well  away, 
To  know  what  waits  you  at  the  gate, 
And  waiting  loves  and  loves  to  wait. 

XXIX 

And  how  to  kiss?     A  thousand  ways, 
And  each  way  new  and  each  way  true, 
And  each  way  true  and  each  way  new 
Each  day  for  thrice  ten  thousand  days. 

XXX 

How  loyal  he  who  loves,  how  grand! 
He  does  not  tell  her  overmuch, 
He  does  not  sigh  or  seek  to  touch 
Her  garments's  hem  or  lily  hand; 
149 


LIGHT 

She  is  his  soul,  his  life,  his  light, 
His  saint  by  day,  his  shrine  by  night. 

XXXI 

True  love  leads  home  his  maiden  bride 
Low- voiced  and  tender,  soft  and  true: 
He  leans  to  her,  to  woo,  to  woo, 
As  if  she  still  turned  and  denied  — 
No  selfish  touch,  no  sated  kiss 
To  kill  and  dig  the  grave  of  bliss. 

XXXII 

True  love  will  hold  his  maiden  bride 
As  nobles  hold  inheritance; 
He  will  not  part  with  one  small  pence 
Of  her  fair  strength  and  stately  pride, 
But  wait  serenely  at  her  side, 
Supremely  proud,  full  satisfied. 

XXXIII 

Why,  what  a  glorious  thing  to  view! 
Each  morn  a  maiden  at  your  side, 
The  one  fair  woman,  maid  and  bride, 
With  all  her  sweetness  waiting  you! 
How  wise  the  miser,  more  than  wise, 
Who  knows  to  count  and  keep  such  prize! 
150 


LIGHT 


XXXIV 

How  glad  the  coming  home  of  him 
Who  knows  a  maiden  waits  and  waits, 
All  pulsing,  still,  within  his  gates, 
To  kiss  his  goblet's  golden  brim; 
How  joyous  still  to  woo  and  woo, 
To  read  the  old  new  story  through! 

XXXV 

Ah  me,  behold  what  heritage! 
What  light  by  which  to  walk,  to  live 
This  age  when  lights  resplendent  burn, 
This  glorious,  shining,  new-born  age, 
When  love  can  bravely  give  and  give 
And  get  thrice  tenfold  in  return, 
If  man  will  only  love  and  learn! 

xxxvi 

And  now  soft  colors  through  the  house 
Began  to  surely  bud  and  bloom; 
The  wise,  the  fair,  far-seeing  spouse 
Began  to  deck  the  bridal  room; 
Began  to  build,  as  builds  a  bird, 
When  first  footfalls  of  spring  are  heard. 

XXXVII 

Some  warm-toned  colors  on  the  wall, 
Then  gorgeous,  grass-like  carpetings 


LIGHT 

Strown,  sown  with  lily,  pink  and  all 
That  nature  in  sweet  springtime  brings; 
Then  curtains  from  the  Orient, 
The  silken  couch,  soft  as  a  kiss, 
The  music  born  of  love  and  blent 
But  rarely  with  such  loves  as  this; 
Mute  music,  where  not  hand  of  man 
Or  foot  of  man  is  seen  or  heard, 
Such  soft,  sweet  sound  as  only  can 
In  happy  blossom  time  he  heard  — 
Be  heard  from  happy,  nested  bird. 

xxxvm 

And  now  full  twelve  o'clock,  the  noon 
Of  faithful,  trustful,  wedded  love, 
The  two  hands  pointing  straight  above, 
This  vast  midnight,  this  argent  June! 
Their  noon  was  midnight  and  the  moon 
Came  through  the  silken  sheen  and  laid 
A  sword  of  silver  at  her  side. 
And  peace,  sweet,  perfect  peace  was  hers, 
As  when  nor  bird  nor  blossom  stirs, 
And  she  was  now  no  more  afraid; 
The  moon  surrendered  to  the  maid, 
Drew  back  and  softly  turned  aside, 
As  bridesmaid  turning  from  the  bride. 

152 


LIGHT 

XXXIX 

All  voiceless,  noiseless,  tenderly 
He  pressed  beside  her,  took  her  hand 
He  took  her  from  the  leaning  moon, 
And  far  beyond  the  amber  sea, 
They  sailed  the  seas  of  afternoon  — 
The  far,  still  seas,  so  grandly  grand, 
Until  they  came  to  babyland. 

SIT  LUX. 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


'53 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT.  I 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


FLblU  19683 


LB 


JAN  27*68 -4PM 


t*\  + 


LD  21A-45m-9,'67 
(H5067slO)476B 


General  Library 
University  of  California 

Berkeley  r 


YC159128 


